Smoke and Ashes
by Twyla Mercedes
Summary: In an unusual House set in a small southern U. S. city, we find a powerful (and perhaps a little unstable) sorcerer with a deeply disturbing past who has gathered a mismatched collection of talented young magic wielders to fight against growing forces of evil. Whose side is he really on? We join the story as a desperate young woman comes into his shop. . . .
1. Chapter 1

_The shadows._

_The shadows were pursuing her. Down every alley. Deep in the hallows of the parking garages. Lurking in the recessed doorways of the businesses that lined the streets._

_Getting closer._

_They were the same ones, the same ones that lived in basements, inside closets . . . under the beds of sensitive, lonely children._

_More of them._

_Bigger._

_Soul-sucking._

_The light was sanctuary. Being around other people was a refuge. _

_Home._

_Home was safe._

_She had no home._

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**An Offering**

The woman looked desperate.

She was young, she looked perhaps eighteen, with dank, limp hair and dulled eyes. Her clothes were castoffs, ill-fitting and, like the rest of her, dirty. Old dirt, built up from days, weeks, of not being able to wash properly. She wore multiple layers of mismatched tattered garments to protect against the biting, bitter wind. She had on several pairs of socks and over them she wore a pair of old sneakers. She carried a small backpack, strapped to her back. She stood, breathlessly, just inside the door, not sure of what she should do next.

She had never noticed this particular pawn and antiquities shop. It was in an old building set in a block of more old buildings. Most had chipping paint, rotting sills, and faded signage, but this one was better kept. The building had been painted a silver grey. The windows appeared to have polished mahogany for the lintel, sill and jambs (although the glass within the wood could have used cleaning). The door into the shop, also polished mahogany, had a large window which allowed a passerby to see into the store.

_How could she have not noticed this place? _She had walked this block so many times before. She would have thought she knew every building downtown, which ones had safe doorsteps to sleep in, which restaurants would let her have the food that hadn't sold and would have gone into the garbage, even which dumpsters were the cleanest in case she had to take shelter in them.

There were two signs in the window. One advertised a room for rent. The other let her know the hours of the shop; it was past closing time although clearly the owner hadn't locked the door just yet. She stepped inside. The place was dark, dusty, cluttered with a myriad of odds and ends and old furniture. There were knickknacks, curios, trinkets and bric-a-brac set behind, in and on glass display cases. She stood on the burnished wooden floor, the echo of the little bell on the door behind her still reverberating.

"What can I do for you, dearie?"

She heard a voice, slightly accented, coming from behind the huge old-time key-stroke register set atop a glass display case. She could barely make the man out, standing as he was in the shadows. _The shadows. _There was a moment she drew back, wanting to flee back out to the streets. But then he stepped around coming to the side of the counter. She could see that he wasn't very big, but even in the dim light, she could see he was well dressed, polished, looking more like a high-priced lawyer than a pawn broker. _Not what she was expecting._

When she didn't say anything, he spoke again, "Can I help you?"

"I. . . I . . . have a necklace," she began.

"You wish to pawn it?"

"Maybe," _No, no, she didn't wish to pawn it. It was the last valuable thing she owned and when it was gone. . . _

_And it was from her mother._

She nodded.

"Let me see it."

She hesitantly walked over to the man and slowly removed the necklace. It was difficult for her to let it go. It was the last thing. . . the last thing that tied her to what had been, the good part of what had been.

She dropped it into his outstretched hand.

He looked it over examining it closely. "Silver. Nice quality. A little old-fashioned. The blue sapphire appears to be real." _and was a stone of extraordinary power. _He assessed it like the professional he was.

She cast occasional, fitful glances at the man. Well-dressed for sure, with longish hair, brown with maybe a touch of grey. _Dangerous, very dangerous._

_And attractive._

"What. . . what can you give me for it?" she managed to ask, wringing her hands together, her fingertips blue from the cold.

The pawnbroker looked at the girl closely. Homeless, probably a runaway. Running from. . . well, it really didn't matter, did it? _The necklace might have been stolen but. . . _

_He knew it had not been._

"I probably can't give you what it's worth to you," he spoke very softly, almost kindly. _He realized she had no clue how valuable the ensorcelled stone might actually be. Hell, he didn't know how valuable the stone might actually be._

She didn't say anything, didn't meet his gaze. She held her breath and felt as if her heart had stopped beating, waiting for him to make his offer.

"Fifty dollars," he offered.

_Fifty dollars! That was more, much more, than she had been expecting! She could live for maybe three months, even four, on fifty dollars and by then it would be spring! She wouldn't get a better offer._

She looked up at him, her dulled blue eyes meeting his warm whiskey brown eyes for the first time.

"All right," she nodded in agreement. _Maybe things would turn around. Maybe she'd be able to redeem it._

The man held the necklace up. "I have another offer," he began.

_Oh god, was he going to offer her twenty dollars for a quick blow job? Well, at least he was clean, looking clean, smelling clean. She'd never done it before, although there had been plenty of similar offers, but she was desperate enough to consider him being her first._

"Would you be interested in a job?"

She was immediately wary. "Wh. . .what kinda job?" she managed to ask wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"This shop has become a rather large estate for me to manage. I need help keeping it clean. Someone to dust, sweep. It's rather larger than it looks," he gestured around the place. "I would pay you a small salary but I can also offer you a room, actually a small apartment."

Now she was puzzled. She knew she looked homeless. She was, after all, homeless. At most, people might offer her a meal or a couple of dollars, but not a job, never a job. _Did he have some hidden agenda?_

"I'm on the level. You look like you could use a job."

_He could have been reading her mind. _"I could," she agreed. "But I don't exactly have references."

"I know, but I pride myself on being intuitive. I'm a good judge of character. You're not a drug user, not an alcoholic?"

"No sir." And she wasn't. Even in the depths of despair, she hadn't retreated to the solace of drugs or alcohol.

"You're not a working prostitute. You don't have a pimp."

"No sir," she had been propositioned enough times, but hadn't quite reached the desperate level of selling herself.

"You're a runaway," he stated it as a fact.

She nodded.

"Are you interested in the job?"

Tenuously, she nodded. _Oh god, please don't let this guy be some kind of white slaver, looking for runaways to traffic!_

"I think so."

"Well, tell you what," the man picked up a cane _there was __something about his cane_ and limped around to the front of the counter. "Why don't you spend the night here, in the shop? I can only let you have a cot in my back room tonight, but it's warmer than sleeping on the street. You can think about it. Tomorrow, I can let you see the little apartment you could have if you're still interested. And make sure you get some breakfast. If you decide you're not interested, you can pawn your necklace with me and be on your way." He was giving her a gentle smile and offering her his hand.

She stood a moment but then took his hand. _Well, he was right. It was better than sleeping on the streets and if there was a meal in it, it might well be worth the risk._

He quietly guided her behind the dark wooden counter and through a curtain into a small alcove.

If she had thought the shop was cluttered, she had no words for this room. It was dominated by a large work table that was loaded with. . . well. . . stuff. It was apparently where he kept everything that he couldn't find a place for anywhere else. Some of the items were obviously broken. Some were in need of cleaning. Some were just leftovers, probably odd pieces that didn't belong anywhere else. She felt, strangely enough, as if she belonged in this strange little room, along with all the other throwaway pieces.

The man began to pull things off an old Victorian style sofa that went along one wall. "There's a toilet behind that door," he pointed. "And the sink's right there," she could see the small sink next to the door for the facility. "Not the most comfortable bed, I'm afraid. We'll find you something nicer if you decide to begin working here."

He managed to find some throw pillows and a couple of what she guessed might be old linen tablecloths to serve as sheets. He also found a couple of quilts for blankets. She took the cloths and quilts from him and began to lay them out on the sofa.

"Have you had supper?" he asked.

She nodded. "I ate at Rosetta's"

He grimaced, "Their 'Everybody Eats' beans and rice special?"

She nodded. It was filling and offered protein. She'd been able to pay that particular evening. She'd found a quarter on the street and had proudly offered it to the waitress.

"I probably have some yogurt in this little fridge and some juice. You'll welcome to any of that if you want it." He pointed her towards a little refrigerator that sat in the corner underneath a small countertop that had a coffee maker and a single free-standing burner on it. "Or I could make you some tea if you like."

_A hot drink. Something besides water. How long had it been?_

She managed a smile. "Tea sounds wonderful."

"Why there it is," he said catching her eye.

"What?" she was confused.

"A smile. I was wondering if you had any in you."

She watched as he heated a teapot on a single burner, pulled out two bags of Earl Grey and found two mismatched teacups. Despite his limp, the man moved gracefully and surely around the little room.

"Why. . . Why are you doing this?" she finally managed to ask.

He poured the hot water over the tea bags. "You looked rather desperate."

She couldn't argue with that. "I guess I am," she admitted and was grateful when he didn't press her.

"What will you have in your tea?"

"Just a little sugar," she told him. She watched as he put a little sugar into both cups. She then got up to get one of the cups from him. As she reached for it, her fingertips brushed his and she startled. There had been a sparkling current of energy run between their fingers. Her eyes widened but she didn't say anything and he hadn't seemed to notice.

She watched for him to take a sip from his own cup and then, only then, did she go ahead and sit down to sip from her own cup of tea. It was delicious. She hadn't noticed how raw her throat was until the hot liquid bathed it. Just holding the hot cup was a sensory delight, the heat bleeding into her fingers and hands. She had forgotten how cold she was.

"You aren't worried that I'll steal your money and take whatever I can carry away after you go to bed?" she asked him settling onto the old sofa.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed, crinkling at the corners of his soft brown eyes. "No . . . for two reasons. First, I told you, I'm a good judge of character and I don't think you're a thief. And second," he gave her another smile, this one feral and somehow predatory, "people usually have more sense than to steal from me. I wouldn't take such an affront lightly."

She recognized a threat, and even though it wasn't directed at her, she shuddered.

"Now my dear, It's past time for me to close up. Please excuse me," he told her and he gave another smile, this time a gentle one, and left her. She could hear him moving around slowly, locking the front door and turning off lights. He came back into the alcove one more time.

"Will you be all right here, tonight?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Tomorrow morning? Would you prefer to breakfast first or shower first?"

She considered. She hadn't been able to wash herself or her clothes in weeks. She probably smelled.

Probably?

She definitely smelled. But breakfast, a real breakfast with eggs and bacon and the like?

She decided, "Shower first, please."

He nodded in agreement then started out, but suddenly stopped.

"Oh yes, your necklace. Hang on to it," he dropped it back into her hand and then left, letting the curtain drop behind himself. She heard his footsteps alternating with the click of the cane trailing off, then a door opened and closed, and then . . . nothing.

She was left alone in the little room.

_There were shadows here, but not the things that were chasing her. She felt safe here._

She considered getting up and getting one of the yogurts but realized that she was bone tired and somehow the hot tea had relaxed her and made her sleepy. _Good lord, she hoped he hadn't drugged it!_ But no, she had watched him make it, he put the same sugar into each one and he had allowed her to choose which cup she wanted. And he'd taken the first sip and drank a cup of the tea himself.

She opted first to put on her necklace, then to use the toilet. This one sat in a tiny white-washed room with a single window set high up in the wall. It not only looked clean, it had a fresh piney scent. It was nice not having to use one of the public, downtown bathrooms . . . or the back of an alley. And she could wash her hands afterwards. . . with soap, something scented with sea salt and neroli. She found the switch and turned off the light and was plunged into pitch dark. She waited a moment, orienting herself and made her way back to the sofa. She sat back down, pulling her feet up, keeping on her shoes. Then, as she had for the past six months, she reversed the backpack so that it was in front of her body. It contained everything she owned that wasn't on her body and she wouldn't risk having it stolen from her in her sleep. She lay down putting the throw pillows under her head. She wrapped the cloths and the quilts around herself, relishing the warmth, the real warmth, they provided her.

She lay a long moment. Then she reached out with _all_ her senses. There were people above her, including the pawnbroker. He _felt_ different to her, different from anyone she had ever met. Some of the other energies were odd, some powerful, very powerful . . . but nothing hostile. She curled up hugging her backpack with one hand and clutching her mother's necklace with her other hand. She drifted off.

The pawnbroker was not to go to sleep so easily.

He'd slowly climbed the four flights of stairs to his apartment. All the way he up was preoccupied, thinking about the new tenant. Such a slight girl, and young, so very young.

He got to his door and stopped. He had long since placed a ward around his door _no one was allowed in his apartment. _The ward was not so much to keep others out but to let him know if his privacy had been violated.

He immediately could see that the ward had been disturbed . . . and rather clumsily so. _Someone was in his apartment. _

_How had they gotten into the building?_

_. . . they must have already been in the building._

He said some quiet words and stilled any life forms that might be skulking about his domain. _Who would be foolish enough to invade his stronghold?_

Slowly, cautiously, he moved around the luxurious rooms that constituted his apartment home. It was twice the size of any of the apartments downstairs, set next to the Map Room on the top floor of the building.

He couldn't detect anything threatening. At first he couldn't detect anything at all. Whatever it was, it was small.

Could it have been some kind of vermin, something completely mundane?

He searched the living room, the kitchen and dining area and finally went down the hall to his bedroom.

He didn't have to turn on the light. _There it was. _

"Milah," he managed to keep his voice calm and gentle as he released the _Still Spell._

"Gold," the young woman stirred, then stretched. She was in his bed and, he suspected, she had stripped off her clothing.

"Milah, we've had this conversation before." He sat down on the end of his bed. "While I'm responsible for the well-being of this little group, I cannot have a . . . uh . . . any relationship with any of my. . . uh. . . the tenants."

"No one would have to know," the young woman pleaded with him. "It could be our secret."

He was trying to be careful _for several reasons. _"But I can't risk one relationship, even one with someone as special as yourself. It could interfere with my relationships with everyone else. And if you and I were. . . uh . . . intimate, it would be hard for us to keep it secret," he managed to smile at the girl, "You and I are both passionate creatures. We can't risk it."

"You don't like me?" the pretty brunette pouted, her black lustrous hair hanging around her face. She had pulled the sheet up around her voluptuous figure somehow managing to position it to cover her body yet still managing to reveal a tantalizing amount of cleavage. _Yeah, she had gone ahead and stripped herself off. _"You don't think I'm pretty."

_How could he respond to this? Milah was certainly one of the prettiest of the Chosen, perhaps not the brightest, but very pretty. And she was valuable to him. In her own way._

"Milah, I think you're beautiful."

"As beautiful as Regina and Emma?" she asked him in a little girl voice.

"Every bit as beautiful as Regina and Emma," he answered her, and he felt he was telling her the truth.

Milah with her long black hair and dark blue eyes was indeed very beautiful and, to his mind, very dangerous. She seemed to have set her cap for him, to what end he couldn't imagine. She had been making suggestive remarks, dressing seductively, flirting with him for some time now and he had consistently, persistently rebuffed her. Landing herself in his bed, bereft of clothing was her latest, most flagrant, least ignorable effort.

Milah twirled her hair. "Are you sure you want to walk away from me? They all tell me that I'm the best." She licked her lips, darting her tongue over the dark red lipstick she had carefully applied.

He closed his eyes, "I'm sure you are, dearie. But, regrettably, you must be the one to walk away from me. Now, my sweet girl, why don't you get your clothes back on."

Milah didn't move. "You take Regina and Emma out for dinner sometime." She had stuck her lower lip out; he suspected she was trying to appear adorably pouty.

"I take Jefferson and Archie out to dinner sometimes too. To see how their training is going," he reminded her, but then relented and asked, "Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow night . . . to see how your training is going?"

She gave him a brilliant smile. "Yes, please."

He stepped out of the room to allow her to dress herself in privacy. He told her to be ready at 8:00 and scooted her out the door. He then re-set his ward, with a little extra special to keep out the little weather witch _just in case she would try to break in again._

He slowly undressed himself, showered and readied himself for bed. He thought about the new girl that had walked into the building.

When she had first walked by his shop he could _feel_ The House calling out to her, inviting her in. She had answered, not even realizing that she had been invited in, but of course only those who were invited would even notice the shop. She had needed help and the old energies that had created this structure, changing it with the times, disguising it across the centuries, had answered her pleas. He could see her aura spiking, telegraphing her desperation, and compelling him to offer assistance. He wasn't quite sure _what_ she was.

That would have to wait.

Was she their new Thirteenth? Since Graham had died, so unnecessarily, so unexpectedly, his group had been incomplete. He had assured them all that someone would come to take Graham's place, that they would just know when the right person came along, but after meeting this girl, well, now he wasn't quite sure. Was she the one? She had certainly sparked when their fingers had touched, but she had no idea of what had happened. And she was young, so young, younger even than Ashley.

Did she even know she was _Talented_?

He ruminated over his position. Could he take the time to train a raw _Talent_? Did he even have the time? They needed someone _now_. He would never be able to get someone untrained ready in time. He was getting tired of this.

But she could be their only chance. It was only their united front, their appearance of competence that kept the shadows, The Greater Darkness, at bay.

_The Fae had put him in this hell-hole fully expecting him to fail, no doubt planning to use his failure as an excuse to dispose of him. He could hear the pompous little bitches now, he'd agreed to help them in exchange for his freedom, but they didn't trust him. But they couldn't kill him outright not without some justification. They had been waiting a long time now, a very long time for him to mess up._

What if this new girl wasn't the Thirteenth? That left him with even more problems. They would still be one short and he would never be able to turn the poor thing back out into the streets. He'd have to find another place for her.

And then he _felt_ her. He stilled himself and allowed her touch to wash over him. She wasn't prying, just a gentle touch to get the sense of his character. Then she moved on.

He smiled to himself while he lay in the bed.

_She might do. Perhaps she would do._

He'd promised her a breakfast and a shower. Breakfast would be easy to arrange, but a shower? She would absolutely need a change of clothing. He'd have to get help with that.

**A.N. Yes, of course this is Belle come into the shop (in case you were wondering). **


	2. Settling In

_Our young lady, desperate, has wandered into an old pawn and antiquities shop with the intent of selling her last valuable possession. Instead she has been accorded courtesy and respect and offered a job - although she is hesitant to accept the job without knowing more about the requirements. She finds her host interesting but is quite unsure of his real motives. On his part, her host, while pleasant and pleasing, is not sure why this young lady has come under his sphere of protection but he will make every attempt to find out. _

_Our valiant young lady considers the job offer and, in a quiet interlude (before the storm clouds gather), begins to settle in._

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

**Chapter 2**

**Settling In**

_+ + + Breakfast_

Belle heard someone at the door and was instantly awake. She recognized the step, tap, step, tap of the man walking with his cane. She looked around the dimly lit room and remembered where she was. _She was safe here. _

She sat up, changing the backpack from her front to her back. She stretched. She ran her hands through her tangled hair and pulled it behind her neck. She had no idea what time it was.

"My dear?" she heard him call to her from outside of the alcove, knocking softly on the door frame while keeping himself behind the curtain.

"I'm awake," she answered him pulling back the covers that had kept her so warm throughout the night and putting her feet on the floor.

The man lifted the curtain and spoke directly to her, "Come with me, my dear. I'll show you the little apartment you can have if you decide to work for me. And you'll be able to get your shower."

She got up, leaving behind the cloths and quilts on the sofa and came on out of the alcove. She noticed he was again dressed impeccably, wearing a custom dark grey suit, with a deep burgundy shirt and a silver colored tie. In his pocket was a burgandy and silver patterned handerkerchief. Incongruously, he was also carrying an ordinary plastic grocery bag.

"Follow me, my dear," and he went through a side door of the shop and into a small foyer. One way went to a door to the street and the other way went up some stairs. He led her up the stairs. "This is a five story building with four units on three of the floors and two units on the top. The apartment I'm assigning to you is on the second floor, just above this shop. There is no elevator, I'm sorry to say. This building is old and it lacks many modern amenities."

As she followed him to the second floor, he asked her, "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," she answered _and she had. A deep sleep without the gnawing intruders that had grown to populated her dreams, eating up her rest and destroying her energies. She had thought it would be a fitful night given the strangeness of the entire situation but once she had dropped off, she had slept hard, without any memories of dreaming or waking. _

Walking behind him, she noted the walls of the small lobby and the staircase had a solid coating of a quiet glossy green paint on them and the light fixtures were plentiful with working bulbs and _what she assumed were_ knock-off Tiffany shades. She walked behind him, going up the stairwell with its dark wooden polished banisters. Reaching the first floor she saw that the hallway was the same quiet glossy green as the stairwell. At her feet was a dark wooden floor. Down the center of the hallway was a plush, vaguely oriental green-toned carpet running the entire length. The thickness of the carpet muffled their steps. _The hallway reminded her of what might be found in a high-end hotel, not in some ancient apartment building on the downside of Asheville. _Using a long old-fashioned key, he opened one of heavy wooden doors that ran along the side.

She viewed the apartment. She had expected it to have that musty smell of a place long shut up but it was surprisingly fresh, as if it had been regularly aired out. She had expected it to be an open shell with unprotected radiators, peeling paint and holes in the wall. What she saw was a long hall with a bathroom off the first door, then a small bedroom off the next door and then an opening to a kitchenette and finally a small living room. There was a row of windows off the living room with a door that went out onto a narrow balcony above the street.

She thought it was huge and heavenly after living in doorways and occasionally on a cot at the shelter.

"I anticipate that you will be able to operate the shower facilities with no problems. These are some clean clothes I borrowed from another tenant that you can slip on. I'm afraid they may be a little large but I think they'll do." He handed off the bundle to her. I'll wait for you downstairs," he told her, also handing her the key and turning away. "You can lock the door behind me."

She took the bag he had handed her, locked the door after him, and went into the bathroom. The bag contained a pair of sweatpants, an over-large t-shirt with the logo "Keep Asheville Weird" spread across it. Someone had also included clean socks. There were also travel size Avalon Organics lavender shampoo and conditioner along with some Caldrea coconut fig leaf body wash with a loofah. Someone had even included a disposal razor.

She stripped off her encrusted clothing and stepped into a luxurious hot water shower _considering that the building had probably been constructed in the 1920's the water pressure was a pleasant surprise_. Mindful that there was a breakfast waiting her, she finished quickly and re-dressed in her second pair of undies which were reasonably clean, then on went the sweatpants and tee-shirt. She put on the one pair of socks (she usually wore all she had) and then her old tennis shoes. Her hair, she finger-combed and then pulled the unruly mass behind her neck.

She debated. Should she take her backpack? It had been her constant companion for the last six or so months. What if she decided not to come back here?

She opted to take it with her.

He was patiently waiting for her downstairs in his shop and, reluctantly but not too proud to refuse it, she accepted the heavy black coat he handed her to wear, putting it on over the backpack.

Breakfast was to come soon enough. It was barely past sunrise. They walked up Lexington turning onto Hiawasee then up the hill and onto Broadway to get to the small hole-in-the-wall Over Easy restaurant. She found herself sitting across from the pawnbroker who appeared to be well-known to staff. He gently encouraged her to order whatever she wanted. It took her an agonizing eternity to decide but eventually in front of her was set the Corlitos omelet complete with bacon, mixed mushrooms, roasted garlic, spinach and white cheddar cheese with a side of toast. He was eating the Sunburst omelet with smoked trout, caramelized red onions, roasted garlic and goat cheese, also with a side of toast. They had both gotten hot tea to drink.

He watched her closely, a shapeless grey and white mass of over-large clothing, drooping hair and downward cast eyes. _Very skittish. He didn't want to frighten her_. "I need a name to call you. I can't just keep referring to you as 'my dear.'"

She hesitated before she answered. "Call me Lacey," she finally said. _Lacey would do. She couldn't very give them her real name, Isabella Lacinda du Francais le Coronet Roi. And she wasn't comfortable with letting him call her by Belle, not the name her father had called her, the name her mother had called her._

He repeated, "Lacey. As you wish."

"What do I call you?" she asked him raising her eyes to his.

He paused before answering, caught off guard by the brilliant blue of her eyes, "I'm called Mr. Gold." _Her eyes had appeared duller before._

The girl nodded and then bent her attention to her food. _He hadn't asked for a last name. She would've had to have come up with a phony name pretty quickly._

The food was delicious. She spooned it into her mouth without pausing, barely chewing. Abruptly she bolted up and dashed to the bathroom. It was awhile before she returned. She finally came back, wiping her mouth and holding her stomach.

He quickly surmised what had happened. "Too much, too soon?" he asked softly.

She nodded, embarrassed, "I'm afraid so. It is sooo good and I guess I was eating too much, too fast. Maybe I should just nibble on the toast."

He allowed her time to eat a couple of bites of toast, eating more slowly now, sipping some hot tea in between bites.

"Have you considered my offer, Miss Lacey?" he was waiting. . .waiting expectantly.

She had considered it. Had she ever considered it. Considering it was all she had done. She managed to look him directly in the eye. She thought for a moment they glinted amber but decided it was just an odd reflection of the lights. "You are just wanting me to clean your shop, right?"

He nodded, "It's a big shop. It's not just a pawnshop. I also deal in antiques and unusual . . . unique items."

"I would just be dusting and sweeping?"

"Uh hum," he again nodded in agreement. "Maybe also I should have you clean that front window. It seems to have gotten murky."

"How many days? What hours?"

He had to smile. _These were good questions. Desperate she may be, but this was not a young woman who would sign an agreement without reading the fine print. _

_Excellent._

"I work five days a week, Tuesday through Saturday, usually from nine to six. I would ask that you work the same but you would have a lunch hour," he told her.

They continued with the discussion, ironing out additional days off for holidays, sick days and, given that he was providing her an apartment, what she would earn per hour. He was delighted with her deliberate questions and reasonable concerns. By the time breakfast was over, they had come to quite the mutually comfortable agreement. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, with a slight smile, he pulled out a contract for her. "I think you will find that this covers all of your particulars."

She momentarily drew back from him, her blue eyes widening. "How. . . How did you do that?"

"I'm intuitive," he replied shrugging.

He watched as she carefully read over the contract, occasionally looking back up at him with some measure of disbelief in her eyes and then, finally, she signed her name. He signed below her name.

"Today, I'll help you get your apartment set up and advance you a little spending money for clothing and some of the other things you'll need."

"Won't you have to watch your shop?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'm sure there's at least one tenant that owes me a small favor. I'll ask someone to watch the store while I assist you."

_+ + + Furnishings_

The rest of the morning was almost fun. He had decided that she would need, at minimum, a bed (they found a lovely walnut head and footboard. It had seen better days but still came together. Unfortunately there was only a lumpy mattress to go with it), a table with two chairs (they found a kitschy 50's metal table with matching chairs) and something comfortable to sit on for the living room area (they found a small well-worn tapestried upholstered sofa).

She would also need some minimum kitchenware and from the back alcove he handed her off several unmatched china pieces with small chips that drastically reduced their re-sale value. He had her look through the cast-offs in the back room _it was very dusty, cobwebs in the corners_. She was able to find everything she could use, plus a small somewhat threadbare area rug, some frayed curtains and, at his suggestion, she was able to keep the cloths and quilts she had used the night before.

"This shop does seem a lot bigger inside than it does from the outside," she observed carrying some of her new treasures out into the front of the shop.

"A lot of people have said that," he replied blandly. He'd enjoyed escorting her from room to room. She was so excited and her feelings seemed to be transferring to him. _How odd._

She did one last walk-through the shop looking for neglected small things that she might be able to give a new home to. She eventually got back around to the front of the place. She'd seen the woman sitting there earlier but now she got to meet her: a pretty self-possessed blonde woman who had sat behind the register while Mr. Gold had guided her through the shop and the backroom. The woman, dressed in jeans and a red leather jacket, had set herself on a stool and Belle could see in the morning light that there were a variety of beautifully framed pictures on the wall behind her. The woman was drinking from an extra-large coffee cup and attending to a cell phone. The woman looked up when Belle and Mr. Gold returned to the front of the shop.

"Hi, you're the new tenant? I'm Emma," the woman held out her hand and Belle took it.

"I'm Lacey," she told her. There was just the slightest tingling on her fingertips.

"So nice to meet you. I'm next door to you, in 2B. Let me know if you need anything." The woman gave her a big smile.

"Thank you," Belle told her, smiling back. _This woman with her hair pulled back and no apparent makeup was so beautiful, radiating confidence and competence. _

Belle smiled and then left to begin carrying some of her new-found possessions up to her apartment. Mr. Gold would have someone come by later in the day to carry the furniture up into her room.

Emma waited until she was sure the young woman was out of the store. She turned to Gold, "You know she's lying about her name?"

"Of course. But I suspect she has good reason for keeping her identify secret. How many others who live here have reason to be circumspect about their pasts?"

Emma gave him a tight smile. "All right, I'll grant you that. Whose clothes did you get for her? They're awful."

"Ruby's. She was the only one that I thought would be awake and up before six this morning."

"Yeah, looks like something Ruby would wear. And she would be up;I know she's working that early shift at the hospital. Ashley's clothes would have been better. The two are closer in height."

"Ashley wasn't up yet when I needed the clothes," he explained turning his attention to putting things on his counter in their correct places.

"She's a cutie, that's for sure," Emma told him.

Gold looked up, vaguely surprised, "Is she?" he asked. _He hadn't noticed._

"She's absolutely a cutie!" Emma chastised him. "Have you not looked at her?"

"No, I guess not," he answered slowly.

"No you haven't! You've just seen a mass of over-sized clothes and squirrel's-nest hair. She's petite and curvy with gorgeous skin and amazing eyes," Emma informed him.

Gold was blank. _She was? He hadn't noticed. Well, maybe her eyes._

Emma rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Now, how long do you plan to keep me shackled to your counter here?"

Gold turned and focused all of his attention onto her. "I believe Miss Swan that you owe me a certain level of . . . tolerance. Am I detecting a tone of disrespect?" he asked her very quietly.

"No sir," Emma answered him obviously irritated but not challenging him. "Just wondering how long you're going to need my help. I do have my day job that I need to report to at noon."

He took a long moment to watch her. _If he were asked, truth be told, Emma was one of his favorites. She had talent, initiative and genuine leadership potential. But she was also headstrong, stubborn and wasn't always willing to listen to his guidance and advice. She was also stoically unimaginative and worked too much by the book – like the police officer she was. She required firm handling with no leeway. _

"I think I can handle things from now on," he finally answered.

As Emma was clearing out, she had to ask, "Is she the one we've been waiting for?"

"I don't know. I think she could be."

"What's her Talent?"

"Not sure yet. She's very tightly wound and completely clamped down."

Emma shook her head, "Well you could just throw her into the deep end of the pool like you did with me." She tilted her head back, finishing off her coffee.

He had to smile to himself. _Emma had been exceedingly stubborn when she had first come into The House, very resistant to recognizing what she was, refusing to accept that she had remarkable Talents. . . or any Talent for that matter. 'No, no, no, there is no such thing!' she would repeatedly tell him, yelling at him. Losing his temper with her, he had finally just thrown a fireball at her head and she had reflexively shielded herself. It had shattered her self-image, her understanding of the world and she had spent the rest of the evening uncharacteristically crying, finding herself being held by him in a fatherly_ _embrace, sobbing on his shoulder. But she was so strong that by the next morning she was at his doorstep wanting his help in learning about her Talent and, especially, wanting to know how to control it. She had done mostly well but still required a strong emotional state to really function at her peak. _

_+ + + Setting up the apartment_

Upstairs in her new apartment, Belle was putting the mis-matched dishes up in the cabinets. She took a moment to explore the kitchen. There wasn't a dishwasher but there was a large farmhouse sink. The stove was an inset with four burners. A small oven with a stainless steel door was set off in a column with cabinets underneath and above. The fridge, also stainless steel, was small but still had plenty of room for a single person's larder. The room had been cleverly designed to take advantage of every space with plentiful drawers, tall narrow drawers for trays and short wide drawers for kitchen linens and many regular sized drawers for everything else. There were rotating insets underneath the counter corners so that everything would be accessible. Belle examined the countertops expecting them to be laminate but to her unschooled eye and fingertips they felt like granite. The countertop lurched out and with the addition of bar stools could easily become an eating surface.

She wandered into the living area. It was small but bright with light coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She'd have to wait for the furniture, but in her mind she decided where she would put what. Having her own place _setting up her own place _was a brand new concept for her. Even in her old life she had never had a place of her own. She had always shared with roommates or hired companions or even servants. Rooms had always been decorated by professionals with subdued taste and understated polish. Having this place to herself was totally new and absolutely wonderful.

Belle looked around. This room would certainly look even better when she had a bit of furniture. Right now the walls were whitewashed and the bare wooden floors a honey pecan color. Belle's eye caught the crown molding in the living room area. The place actually emanated a sense of luxury. Nice, very nice.

She stood looking out the window. Well, if she were still here in the summer, it would be awesome to have supper on the balcony. Maybe even have that self-assured, ever-composed, elegantly attired Mr. Gold up for a delicious meal, something with an appetizer, an entrée and a fabulous dessert. _Of course, she'd have to learn to cook before she could pull that off_. She could envision herself in a white, flowing gown _maybe a touch of décolletage_ and him, in one of those elegant tailored suits with the silken handkerchiefs that he seemed to favor. Maybe she could get him out of the suit jacket. She giggled.

_He was probably old enough to be her father. _

_But he was a lot nicer looking that her daddy. She had not been able to help noticing the warmth of his eyes and when he handled his teacup, she had noticed his long, strong fingers. And there was something about him. . . ._

She still wasn't sure why he was helping her and certainly she didn't entirely trust him. _There was just the faintest hint of something unsavory about him, enough to make her wary but not enough to make her leave._ That thing he had done with the contract was creepy _really creepy_. But he had been otherwise nothing but kind to her. She thought she could easily grow to like him.

And Emma had certainly seemed friendly enough.

She wondered who else lived in this building.

As if in response to her thought, there was a timid knocking on the door.

**A.N. I've got to thank all those people who are following (and those who've already 'favorited') and a special thanks to my amazing reviewers: OneMagician, thedoctorsgirl42, jewel415, Grace5231973, RoxyMoron, Erik'sTrueAngel, mockorangeflower, EevyLynn, Tinuviel Undomiel, Wondermorena, juju0268, emospritelet, cynicsquest, boots111, MyraValhallah, DruidKitty and orthankg1**

**Victoria Black (Guest) - glad you liked the first chapter. I try (and mostly succeed) in updating every Thursday morning est.**

_NEXT: Belle encounters additional tenants; Gold realizes Belle's true nature _


	3. Realization

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

_Although Belle is still wary of her mysterious benefactor, she has accepted his job offer and has availed herself of his generosity to gather furnishings for her lovely new apartment. She has also met one of her charming neighbors._

_Meanwhile her benefactor continues to wonder about the true nature of his newest tenant._

**Chapter 3**

**Realization**

As if in response to Belle's thought, there was a timid knocking on the door.

She opened the door and there was another pretty blond there. A young woman, probably only a bit older than she was and only a little taller.

"Hi, I'm Ashley. I'm from 2C, just down the hall," the young woman said breathlessly. "Mr. Gold asked me if I would take you shopping. He said you were going to need clothes and sheets and towels and stuff."

"Come in, Ashley. I'm Lacey," she stepped back so the other woman could come in.

Ashley gave the empty apartment a quick look around, "You really don't have anything do you? Well, been there myself. Mr. G. gave me a wad of cash and asked if I would take you out to a Target or somewhere. Is now good?"

Belle hesitated for only a moment, "Yeah, sure. He gave you how much?"

"I didn't count it, a bunch of twenties, but he told me to spend however much it took and bring him the change. Come on. My car's at the main garage on Rankin."

Belle grabbed the 'new' coat and her backpack. "Wait a moment. If I'm going to be getting some new things, I don't guess I need to carry these old things." She darted into the bathroom and emptied out the old clothes out of her backpack. She took a couple of deep breaths – this was a soul-searing moment and put her on another plane of trust – abandoning her stuff, her precious stuff. But the bag was much lighter without her having to carry every piece of clothing she owned. She stuffed her old clothes in the cabinet under the sink – no need to leave her possessions out in the open where somebody might see them and take them.

She followed Ashley out and up the street. Ashley proved to be a pleasant, friendly companion.

Belle asked her how she had gotten to know Mr. Gold.

"Oh, what a story! I was having all these problems with my family. I was living with my step-mom and step-sisters. You wouldn't believe. It was so bad. I was thinking about hurting myself, I mean, really dealing with some bad stuff, you know. Anyway, this old guy shows up and tells me he'd been a friend of my father's. My father had died about five years earlier. And he'd been a friend of my father's and wanted to know if I wanted to come and live in Asheville and he had a place for me to stay and would help me find a job and I just couldn't turn it down and I took him up on his offer. My step-mother didn't give a shit about what happened to me so there was no problem on that end. Well, I've never looked back. At first I worked cleaning his shop, like I was his maid, but then I found a better job up at Tops Shoe store. I'm one of their best sales people. I also work part-time at the co-op on Broad River. I'm the Vegetable Girl. I know all about pumpkins and stuff and I'm making decent money now. And I've met the nicest guy, a real prince. We're dating pretty regularly if you know what I mean. I've been thinking of going back to school for my business degree and Mr. Gold has really encouraged me to do that."

Ashley talked on and on . . . and on. It was some time before Belle could ask one of the questions she had, "What can you tell me about Mr. Gold?"

"Not much. He's really rich, I know that. And knows everybody who's important. I don't know if he's ever been married, but I think he had a flaming affair with some woman a while ago. There 's nobody right now that he's with. He's totally not gay if that's what you're asking. But I've never known him to even go out on a date. He takes a lot of us out for dinner on occasion, but it's always completely business-like. What do they call it, platonic? He asks how are things going for us. Do we need anything? It's like you're out with your grandfather, if you follow my drift. Now there are plenty of gorgeous women in our building but he's never hit on any of us. Now some of us have hit on him. Like Milah. She lives on the fourth floor and I think she's tried _everything _to get his attention, but he keeps sending her back to her room with her tail tucked between her legs. I think if he were to go for anybody it might be Emma or Regina. He always seems to be giving them special attention."

Belle remembered the confident blonde. "I've met Emma. Who's Regina?"

"She lives next to Milah on the fourth floor. She is like really smart and works in the Mayor's office."

"Nice," Belle replied. _Milah was the tramp who kept hitting on the man, right? And pretty, self-possessed Emma was one of his favorites, along with this smart woman, Regina. _Ashley continued talking on, not stopping until they pulled into the Target. Ashley grabbed a buggy and headed to housewares. "You need sheets, pillows, pillowcases, a couple of towels, a shower curtain and soap and toilet paper and dishwashing detergent and shampoo. . . ." Ashley moved efficiently through the megabox store, tossing things aplenty into the buggy. They also stopped to pick up some underwear (bras and panties), some socks and tights, three airy skirts, several long sleeved tee's and several cheap tank tops along with two sweaters. Belle also found herself another pair of shoes, some little black flats that looked more feminine than her current worn out tennis shoes. And, on a whim, she picked up a hairbrush and, on an impulse, an inexpensive lipstick. Ashley took her through the checkout and paid for everything.

"We probably need to stop at a grocery store, too. Mr. Gold said you'd probably want to buy some bread and milk and eggs and stuff. He said that you didn't have anything in your apartment." Ashley pulled them into a Publix and she grabbed another buggy and began piling things into it with both hands. Basic food stuffs, cheese, sliced turkey, mustard, eggs, and so forth. They ended up with five bags of groceries and that was with Belle trying to keep things to a bare minimum.

Back at their building, Ashley swung into the loading zone and helped Belle get things out of the car and into the locked lobby of the building. Ashley left Belle while she went back to Rankin to park the car in the garage. Mr. Gold came out and helped Belle bring the bags up to the apartment.

Belle was concerned that the man, who really did seem to depend on his cane, felt it necessary to help her carry her groceries and the myriad of other purchases.

"I can do this myself," she protested. "Who's minding the store?" she had to ask him.

"I think things will be all right for a couple of moments," he murmured to her. He looked over the bags. "Looks like you did all right with Miss Ashley."

"She was wonderful, most helpful," Belle had to give her that.

"Excellent. She'll be happy you gave her a good report. Now why don't you put up what needs to get taken care of immediately and then come down and have some lunch with me."

Belle hesitated. "I was planning on fixing a sandwich here."

"I'll order out for us," he told her. "You come and join me. I'll make tea."

She sensed he was not making a request. She nodded. "All right. I have some things to get into the fridge."

"Then I'll see you shortly. I'll order us bento boxes from Heiwa Shokudo. They're practically right across the street and they're used to making deliveries to me."

Belle took a moment after he had left and changed into some of her new clothes, a long blue skirt, a white tank top and a black sweater along with her new black flats. She brushed her hair back but realized she didn't have anything to tie it back with, so she twisted it up on top of her head. She put on the new lipstick.

When she went down stairs and into the pawn shop, he was waiting. There were already two takeout boxes on his counter. She _felt_ his eyes flicker over her and saw a very slight smile come onto his face. _He liked what he saw._

"You clean up nicely, Miss Lacey," he told her and led the way, carrying the boxes, back behind the curtain into the alcove. There was one chair already set behind the table and Mr. Gold found another chair, dumping the stack of papers on it onto the sofa that Belle had used for a bed the previous night.

"Thank you. I thought these clothes would be more suitable for the job you want me to do."

"Definitely," he told her but she caught him looking at her lips. _She hoped he wouldn't think it frivolous that she had spent his money on something so unnecessary as lipstick._

She ate lunch with him, enjoying the unusual food, glancing up from time to time to smile at him. _He had such beautiful eyes. And she couldn't help but notice his long fingers skillfully manipulating the chopsticks. _

Gold couldn't help but appreciate her transformation. _Damn, but she had cleaned up nicely. She had looked adequate enough at breakfast in the over-sized clothing and her hair still damp from the shower. But now. He was especially touched by her little touch of vanity, the pretty pink lipstick on those perfect full lips. He suspected he should be flattered – she had likely done that for him. He had not expected her to be this pretty. Emma had said she was curvy but the bulky clothes had obscured her pleasant little body. . . now, with the new clothes, in the full light, he could see the luminescent pale skin, the dark chestnut curls with rich golden highlights, the blue eyes full of sparkle. . . . She was exquisite. With a shy little smile. . ._

He shook himself.

_And young enough to pass as his daughter!_

_What was he thinking?! After lecturing to Milah that he would not, could not get involved with any of the tenants here he was having improper thoughts about this latest little tidbit to move into the building. _

_He needed to be focused on awakening her Talent. He wished he had an inkling of just what she was able to do._

"Why don't I go ahead and pick up a couple of hours of work this afternoon? You've been so generous, I'd like to see you getting some of your investment back," she gave him a sweet smile and cleaned up after their lunch. She foraged around the workroom and found a couple of cloths that would do for dusting. She found some spray furniture polish and some glass cleaner. She began to the right of his main center counter and began to work her way, top down, on each display around the room.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was focused on the dusting as if it was a most important job. _Apparently a conscientious worker._ She would occasionally trip over things stacked on the floor or run into furniture. _Apparently a clumsy girl. _She found a step stool and would climb onto it to reach the top of some of the displays and bigger pieces of furniture. He held his breath, half expecting the little uncoordinated thing to trip and fall off the stool but fortunately no such mishap occurred, although she dropped the can of furniture polish more than once and misplaced the glass cleaner any number of times. He found himself watching her trim ankles and dainty feet when she went up and down the little step stool. Very nice little feet encased in simple black shoes.

He could also hear her humming while she worked. Humming?! She was humming? Like she was happy or something?! He watched awhile but despite his misgivings and preconceptions, she didn't knock over anything valuable or fall on her face. He was wondering about asking her out for an evening meal but then remembered that he had an appointment with Milah. _He was sooo not looking forward to sitting across from Milah while she tried to play footsie . . . and handsie . . . and lipsie. _Besides, Miss Lacey might think him asking her out for a third meal was too weird after he had insisted on her company for breakfast and again for lunch. She was already quite jumpy and he didn't want to scare her off.

He took a moment to look at her. To _really_ look at her. _Interesting aura. Quiet, mostly silvers and serene purples to watercolor blues with little flashes of red reflecting her fears, her anxieties. Unusual, like she wasn't quite human. But not like Ruby, his little shape shifter, who was definitely not human. He continued to study her. He closed to eyes to better see her with his inner eye. _

_Shit?! _

Stunned, he startled, upsetting the tea cup he was drinking from. It hit the floor with a clunk and a chink.

_He sat bolt upright. _

_She was half fairy! _

_There it was, the little dainty, delicate webbing that proclaimed her fairy blood. How could he have missed it?_

_He hated fairies! _

_They were all lousy, lying bitches. _

_(Alright, there might be one single exception. One single fairy in all the overworld and underworld kingdoms that he had some modicum of tolerance for. One single fairy that had never tried to screw him over. But that single exception was an outcast from fairydom.)_

"Is everything all right?" Belle must have heard the cup hit the floor. She was checking on him.

"Yeah, I accidently knocked my cup over. Everything is fine," he explained. "It's excellent, no problem, copasetic, it's ok, it's just ducky, it's all good." _Good grief, he sounded like an idiot._

Belle looked at him like he was not quite all together and slowly returned to her dusting.

He took a couple of deep breaths and settled himself back down. He considered her parentage. One of them had no doubt seduced some poor smoe, had his baby and then abandoned both when she got bored. Typical flightly, irresponsible fairy. Their offspring were often left without guidance and would end up with all kinds of problems, often unbalanced and unsatisfied. Was Miss Lacey any different?

_Yeah, yeah, of course, he and the fairies were supposed to be on the same side._

_Well, right now at least._

_How had his life come to this? On the same side as the bloody fairies! _

He retrieved the cup. Damn, there was a big chip out of the rim. There was a moment that he found himself glaring at the girl, like it was her fault but he quickly righted himself. _It was just a cup._

At that moment, two rather burly men came in, Mr. Dove and another helper, Mr. Blue. They began to carry the furniture she had selected up the stairs. At Mr. Gold's suggestion Belle went upstairs with them to tell them where to put the furniture. She was coming back down the stairs after the deliveries and nearly ran into a tall, slender young man who was on his way up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Well hello," the young man said to her skidding to a stop. He stepped back and looked her over. "Oh, please, please tell me that you're our new tenant, in 2A?"

"I am. I'm Lacey," Belle introduced herself. This was an attractive fellow, dressed with a distinctive flair.

"Delighted," the young man actually bowed to her. "I'm Jefferson, in 3A, directly above you. You've got to be exhausted just from the hassle of moving in. Allow me, please, to take you to supper. We'll just walk down the street."

Belle was slightly taken back. "Uhm. . . I."

"Don't tell me our Mr. Gold has already asked you out. I should have expected he would be monopolizing your time. He tends to do that with a new tenant."

Belle made up her mind, "Actually Mr. Gold has been very generous and very helpful. But I don't have supper plans and I'd be delighted to share a meal with you."

"Pick you up at . . . seven?" he asked.

"Perfect," Belle told him. She smiled at him and he changed directions and walked alongside her down the stairs and followed her back into the shop. Belle picked up her dust cloth and went back to work.

"Everything moved in satisfactorily?" Mr. Gold asked her while he nodded at Jefferson.

"It's perfect," she told him. "Thank you so much for all your help." She went back to her dusting.

Jefferson held back, watching her walk away with a high level of male appreciation, watching her until she disappeared towards the back of the shop.

In a low tone he spoke to Gold. "Delightful. I'm smelling fairy blood."

"I should have had you sniff her before I asked her to stay," Gold told him with just a touch of acerbity.

"Oh, you must have just figured that out?" Jefferson, knowing a little of Gold's history with the fairies, thought this was funny. "Have you figured out any of her Talents?"

Gold pursed his lips. _Jefferson was insanely Talented, an Air Elements master, with a fair amount of telekinetic ability – Gold had often felt that in the right circumstances the man could probably teleport himself. Plus, he was very good at detecting the Talents of others, picking up not only their major Gift but often other minor skills. _

Jefferson was grinning at him. He knew that Gold was ten times, hell, probably a hundred times more talented than the rest of the group, probably all of them put together. His abilities occurred maybe once in every ten generations. But he had his weaknesses. He saw _too much_ and it often took him a moment¸ even many moments, to sieve the relevant from the irrelevant. Jefferson's _Vision_ was sharper.

"Do you want me to tell you?" Jefferson teased.

"Spit it out," Gold ordered.

Jefferson dropped his voice to a whisper, "She's an Empath."

Gold winced. Empaths were extremely rare.

They could read feelings the way telepaths read thoughts. They were kind, gentle souls, adept at diplomacy and therapy.

And to his mind, they were totally useless.

They could end up understanding the enemy to the point of not wanting to take action against them. Totally passive beings. He glanced over to where the very fine Miss Lacey was dusting. Frail, delicate, vulnerable. More likely a liability than an asset.

_What had The House been thinking or feeling or whatever the hell The House did? Inviting her in when he needed a warrior! Someone good with weapons, like Mary Margaret or even sneaky Killian who could charm the birds from the trees or, more usefully, slip up behind someone and put a knife into them without a sound. _

_What good would an Empath be in a war?_

Jefferson told him he was to take the little Empath out to supper that evening and he would try to find out more.

Gold asked him to come by after the evening out and share. He confessed that he had an appointment with Milah at eight.

"With Milah? Have you finally succumbed to her charms?" Jefferson was surprised.

"Strictly business, I assure you," Gold told him.

"Well," Jefferson was headed toward the door to the lobby, "Do watch out. She bites." Jefferson was laughing at Gold's discomforture and he left him sitting alone, sulking behind his desk. Gold sat there silently for the remainder of the afternoon, his mood perking up as he got the opportunity to interact and deal with different customers.

Belle would hear the little bell on the door jingle each time someone came in. She could see many of the customers from her current vantage and could overhear the interchanges between her enigmatic employer and the unusual array of customers.

Many came in to sell him something. He was always calm and careful, and, as far as she could tell, would give them a fair price.

One attractive, very much in love, couple came in, a cute, young couple. The wife was just beginning to show. They were looking for something for the baby's room. Gold came out from behind the desk and began to show them different things, leading them back to a beautiful dream catcher. This one had the odd crystal woven into it and so would sparkle when the sun caught it.

"This might be something you'd be interested in," he told them. "It'll offer your boy protection against evil spirits."

"How'd you know we were having a boy?" the woman asked him, surprised.

"You didn't mention it. I guess I'm just intuitive," he said with a smile.

The couple bought the dream catcher.

Another young man came in and Gold sold him an Egyptian ankh cross, also for protection.

"Thanks dude," the young man told him.

Gold nodded and gave the young man a thumbs up.

And then there was a nervous young woman. He sold her a sterling silver pentagram.

"Blessed be," the young woman told him, immediately putting it around her neck.

"And to you, sister," he'd replied.

Later, Belle heard another woman talking with him. It was a loud conversation, sounding more like an argument. Belle slipped around and saw Mr. Gold talking with a stunning brunette. She seemed to be showing him something on a piece of paper, "I did this all by myself," she was saying.

"Adequate," he had responded.

"What?! This is excellent! Why do you always have to be such a dick, Gold?" the woman raised her voice.

"Because I know you are capable of better work," he answered keeping his voice low.

"What would you have me improve upon?" the woman was shouting at him.

"Details, more details, clearer details. This is about as good as I could download off the Internet," he had retorted in a low, soft voice. "We have to get the south section and this is a piece of crap."

The woman had glared at him as she had pulled back the paper she had given him. "Bite me," she had sniped at him and then had stiffly walked away toward the lobby door, her shiny patent leather high heels clicking on the wooden floor. She slammed the door behind herself.

_One of the building's tenants, no doubt._

Then there was a shy red-headed man. "I think I've identified four more," he told Gold in hushed tones.

"You think?"

"I have identified four more," the man repeated with a bit more confidence.

"Where?"

"All of them on the outskirts of town. They're just watching."

"That would make sense. Go ahead and put them, as best you can, on The Map. Good job."

"Thank you sir. I'll do that and keep working on it. I'll let you know if I identify any others."

And Belle also heard him leave through the lobby door. _Another tenant._

And shortly after another man poked his head in from the hallway that led up the stairs. He was a short, stocky individual, balding, a bit rough looking.

"Got it," he told Gold, giving him a thumbs up as he briefly stopped.

Belle was curious. _What was all this about? What had he gotten? Identifying 'watchers?' And what was that other woman up to – drawing a map of some sort? And they all reported to Mr. Gold. _

_She didn't have the sense they were a criminal organization setting up some sort of bank heist. She reached out very gingerly, very carefully. Mr. Gold had this odd sheen around him. Last night he had felt different, odd, but very powerful. Now all that was apparent again, although even more power than she had first thought. It fairly rippled off of him. She could see him in her mind's eye well enough, as if he stood at the center of layers of protection and . . . she didn't know what to call it. . . magic? _

He glanced over at her and gave her a small smile.

Nervously, she smiled back.

What had she gotten herself into?

**I want to thank all of my wonderful reviewers (this story has a bit of a slow start so please hang with me as I will be continuing with the slow reveal). Thanks for the wonderful reviews from: orthankg1, thedoctorsgirl42, The Prince's Phoenix, emospritelet, Aletta-Feather, cynicsquest, RoxyMoron, Grace5231973, Ying-Fa-dono, Chauchi, MyraValhallah, mockorangeflower, RaFire, **

**and**

**Anne Andrews (Guest), Guest (spin a tale), guest (ooh loving), Guest (Hooked), Erik'sTrueAngel (Guest) **

_Next: Belle shares an insight_

_Belle gets supper with Mr. Jefferson_


	4. Insight

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

_Miss Belle has continued to settle in with additional (and unexpected) financial help from her employer. She meets the energetic Miss Ashley and the flamboyant Mr. Jefferson, who quickly asks her out for supper. She crosses paths with other tenants who all seem to be employed in activities under Mr. Gold's direction. _

_Mr. Gold, employing his own talents discerns that Belle is part fairy, an unsettling and distasteful discovery. Jefferson with his own remarkable insights tells Mr. Gold that Belle is an Empath, able to read feelings, an ability that Mr. Gold feels is totally useless in their current situation._

_Belle's curiosity continues to grow. _

**Chapter 4**

**Insight**

Belle had smiled at Mr. Gold and then promptly retreated back into one of the side rooms. When she didn't hear anything, unable to stop herself, she peeked back to see him behind his counter, silent and implacable.

_Had he sensed her trying to get inside his head? (It wasn't something she had actually tried very often – it had always seemed . . . intrusive.)_

There was no outward indication he had sensed anything.

She went back to her dusting, the size of the shop continually surprising her. It was indeed larger than she had thought. _It didn't look this big from the outside. _There were many large pieces of furniture, beautiful armoires, chifferobes, and wardrobes were set alongside wooden washstands most with a basin and a pitcher. And headboards and footboards were set next to chests of drawers and smaller pieces of furniture. There was a plethora of interesting smaller items, including jewelry boxes, various kitchen kitsch, candleholders, clocks, lamps, it seemed to go on forever. She wondered if he remembered every piece he had in the shop – somehow she thought it likely that he did.

And many pieces reverberated, emitting strong sensations that touched her at her core. Mostly benign, some good, some. . . well, some not so good. Some of the items were. . . _unsettling_. The pressure of so much unfocused, ambient energy made her feel a little dizzy. Soon enough, she found herself lulled into an odd sensorium, darkness with a droning buzz of sound¸ degenerating into rote, mechanical actions, her movements slow and lethargic as if she were drugged or sleepwalking. Time slowed and things within her immediate sight became brighter and sharper while those things on the periphery became dull and out of focus.

"Miss Lacey."

She jumped, startled from her reverie.

He had called her.

Mr. Gold had called her name.

She blinked and took several deep breaths, coming out from the back of the shop. She had worked all afternoon and had gotten through less than a fourth of the place, maybe not even a tenth _maybe not even a twentieth – the place was huge_. She had kept finding little alcoves and small rooms that she hadn't noticed when she had first walked through. It had been a long time, if ever, since many of the shelves had been cleaned and she was trying to be thorough.

She had taken off her sweater as the shop was warm. Her hair, which she had twisted up on top of her head, now had stray strands escaping, curling into little corkscrew tendrils around her neck and face. She had dark smudges on her nose and one cheek.

Blissfully unaware of her appearance she padded around to the front of the shop to answer his call.

Gold's first thought when he saw his new maid (with the curls escaping her sloppy bun and the little smudges on her face) was that she looked exceedingly adorable. Her blue eyes which had appeared so dull and haunted before, now had a sparkle and some semblance of hope. Instead of focusing on the floor, as she had in their first interview, she now looked him in the eye. _And now it was himself that was having some difficulties meeting the direct and sincere gaze of the little half-Fae. _He swallowed and looked away from her. "I believe you have a supper date with Mr. Jefferson at seven. It's now six o'clock. Your work day is over."

"Oh! I hadn't realized! Thank you, Mr. Gold! Thank you! I'll be in tomorrow at 9 o'clock," she promised. And then she had walked over to him and stood on the other side of his counter. She stood quietly.

He finally looked up at her. _Absolutely adorable._ "Yes?"

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm not sure why you're doing all this for me, but I want you to know that I really appreciate it." Her blue eyes were shining and she was smiling at him.

He swallowed _again_. "A lot of the people here are living on a second chance. Some like Mr. Jefferson, have needed third and fourth chances." He tried to shrug her off.

She started out of the shop through the lobby door. _Something was so clear to her. Something she knew. _

_Should she share it?_

She turned. "Perhaps I shouldn't say anything," she began hesitantly. He looked up, expectantly. She took a deep breath and continued, "but that woman with the map who was in here?"

His gaze was steady; he was waiting.

"The one who called you . . . 'a dick'," she blushed at the improper word.

He slowly nodded. _Regina, she was talking about Regina._

"She's having trouble getting something right that you want her to do, isn't she?"

He nodded again. _Absolutely. Where was she going with this?_

"Tell her she might do better to take her shoes off," she gave him another quick smile and hurriedly turned to go upstairs.

_Regina! Barefoot and scrying? _He had to laugh at the image. Prim, coifed-together, spanxed-out Brooks-Brothers-suited Regina working her magic . . . barefoot!

But. . . .

Despite her fascination with fire magic, Regina was an Earth Elemental at her heart. An unusual one for sure; usually the Earthers were healers and homemakers. Regina was career oriented and focused on organizing the earth and everything in it. Suggesting she work barefoot would be like telling her she'd be better off staying at home and making babies for some man.

It would absolutely piss her off.

But . . . .

She _was_ an Earth Elemental.

_However did this adorable, fragile, little Empath know this?_

+ + + _A Dinner Date _

Belle had made it up her one flight of stairs and realized she was trembling. _She had just about, no, she had, _revealed_ herself to this Mr. Gold, still not knowing exactly who or what he was. But all afternoon, she could feel the energies flowing around her like she had never felt it before. Many of the objects in the shop were clearly special. And he had sold magical protections to three of the customers who had come in. She just knew it. And the tenants, well they all seemed to be working on _something _for him. And last night she had certainly sensed a lot of power coming from those in the apartments above her. _

Well, it was done now.

She stepped back into her apartment, enjoying having a place she could lock up. Having left in a hurry to have lunch with the autocratic pawnbroker, she still had things to put up and take care of. She quickly made up the bed, put up the remaining groceries she had left in bags, and arranged the meager toiletries she had purchased in her bathroom. She opened one of the closet doors and found one of those dryer-on-top-of-washer single units. She fetched her old clothes and began a wash cycle.

She had forgotten to purchase hangers, so she just kept her new clothes folded up on the floor of the closet. She should probably start a list of what else she needed. She looked around.

She needed something to make a list on.

She brushed out her hair and looking at herself in the mirror, suddenly realizing she had smudges on her face. She blushed. Mr. Gold had to have noticed this but he hadn't made any comment. He'd probably thought she was quite the harem-scarum. _Embarrassing. _She reapplied her lipstick.

No clock. That would also have to go on her I-need-this list. There was a tap on the door.

"Jefferson?" she asked.

"Tis I, milady," she heard him answer and opened the door to him. He stepped inside. Belle couldn't help but notice his attire: tailcoat tuxedo jacket over a white shirt with a floppy purple scarf bow tie and rather snug fitting blue jeans encasing his long legs. _An uncalled for comparison with a certain impeccably clad Armani attired pawnbroker came to mind. _

Although somehow Jefferson made it work.

"Let's see what all Mr. G has done you for." He walked on through her apartment. He turned when he got all the way to the living room. "You just stepped off the streets didn't you, Lacey?"

She nodded. "I came in to pawn my mother's necklace and he offered me a job keeping the shop clean."

"Yeah," Jefferson agreed. "That's how it works."

"How did you come to be with him, in this building?" she asked.

"Get your coat and I'll tell you my story at dinner. You like French food, I hope. They don't take reservations, but I'm a regular and they know I'm coming with a special lady. We're going to Bouchon's on Lexington Avenue."

He and Belle walked down Lexington to get to the restaurant. It was already dark and the weather was uncomfortably cold with a brisk wind. Belle kept looking around. _The sun was down now. She thought she saw some of the shadows just on the periphery of her vision, but when she would turn to look there would be nothing. _She felt safe with Jefferson, although not as safe as she felt when she was in The House.

"A French restaurant? I may not be dressed up enough," she said feeling uneasy as they neared the little bistro.

"Dressed up enough? Honey, you're in Asheville. People pay for their meals by reciting one of their poems. You'll be fine," he reassured her.

The staff certainly knew Jefferson and were able to seat them in a quiet corner. He ordered a white wine and, with Belle's blessing, the evening's special, Porc Normandie (pork loin topped with an apple and wild mushroom cream sauce). It was served with prosciutto wrapped asparagus and rice pilaf. Mindful of her morning episode, she apologized to Jefferson at the beginning and shared that she would likely be unable to eat very much.

He nodded with understanding. "You've been on low rations, haven't you? A lot of food, rich food, hitting your stomach and you can't handle it. Been there. I understand. Eat what you can. You can take the rest home and have a lunch or three."

"I'm so glad you understand. Now tell me your story."

"Well, let's see. I was once married to the most beautiful woman I'd ever met, present company excepted. And then we had the most beautiful little baby girl. My wife got sick and . . . "he hesitated, "she died. I tried to hold it together for my daughter's sake but I made bad choices and began to get mixed up in some things that were mostly illegal. I got caught and sent down a rabbit hole into jail. My daughter was placed with some of my wife's relatives. While I was in jail, I went into Wonderland."

At Belle's confused expression, he elaborated, "I learned to do drugs and when I got out, I became a heavy user, never quite making it back to town as it were. I met Gold and he helped me get sober by offering me a job and helping me understand myself better. I haven't used in more than five years now."

Belle's eyes were large and her face showed her caring, "And your daughter?"

He made a face at her. "I worked out some visitation with the relatives. She knows I'm her dad and that I have some problems. She's better living with them right now until . . . "

"Until?" Belle asked him.

"Until things get a little more settled," he smiled at her.

Belle reached for his hand and there was that slight tingle. "She must have been an extraordinary woman, your wife. I can see that you're still in love with her."

It took Jefferson a moment to pull himself together. He was accustomed to being flip and casual, reciting his story as more of a rote exercise rather than any real revelation of his greatest pain. But Belle had touched on a wound that never would be able to heal. "She was. . . remarkable," he agreed dropping his eyes. He felt the old sorrow beginning to well up.

"I suspect that she would be so proud of how much you've overcome, dealing with. . . all you had to deal with," Belle told him softly.

Jefferson thought he was about to lose it. _He had not done that with anybody in . . . well, he had never done that. Not even with his daughter._

"Umm, I guess she would be proud, but she'd probably read me the riot act for getting into drugs," he confessed.

Belle smiled at him, "You miss her every day," she said it as a statement, not a question.

"I do. They said it would get easier and some days it is, but others it's . . . it's. . . . "

"Like it just happened," she finished for him.

Jefferson nearly panicked. _Good lord, he was going to start crying right here in the restaurant._ He needed to deflect her, her questions, her gaze, her rapid insights. _So this is what an Empath could do, he thought. Damn, he wanted to spill his guts to her, tell her about everything, every pain, every stupid mistake, every bold maneuver, every little success, everything. He had to change the subject. _

"Now, you have to tell me your story," he was sniffing but now maybe she would sense that he needed to move on. _He had to remind himself that he was supposed to be finding out all about Belle in the first place, not divulging his pains and foibles. _

Belle nibbled at her supper. She knew it was her turn, but she knew she had to be careful with what she shared. "I wasn't doing well healthwise. They kept trying different medications, but nothing seemed to really help. And then I had this really big disagreement with my father and I thought it best that I leave home. But I wasn't really prepared for being on my own and I ended up in Asheville on the streets, barely surviving."

"And you connected with Gold when you came in to see if he'd buy your mother's necklace?"

"It's the last thing of value that I have. He offered me a job instead. I took a chance and took the job."

"What do you think of him," Jefferson was apparently focused on his meal when he asked this question.

Belle knew _for some reason_ that he was very curious as to her assessment of the enigmatic, very generous, very odd Mr. Gold. "He's extraordinarily kind," she said and immediately knew that her answer had amused her dinner companion.

Jefferson laughed, "You've never messed up on a job for him. He'll totally kick your ass."

"Oh, then I guess I better be careful with my dusting," Belle replied coyly.

"Oh yeah, you miss a spot and he will totally be all over you," Jefferson joked. "Tell me more about what you think of him," he urged her.

_Why was he so interested in her opinion of Mr. Gold? _"Now why would you want me talking about another man when I'm out with you?" she asked turning up her best effort to be charming.

"Oh, you're good, Miss Lacey," he knew very well what she was doing. "And you are exactly right. Please then, tell me about yourself. What do you like to when you are not dusting?"

She shrugged, "I read a lot."

Jefferson continued to ask her about her hobbies, her likes, her dislikes, any former boyfriends.

Jefferson was charming . . . and disarming . . . . Belle found herself sharing, probably more than she would have ever intended but she felt she was managing to keep it light and not too revealing. She had a wonderful time and later she and he walked back to their apartment building wordlessly, the chill wind taking the conversation out of them. He walked her to her door on the second floor and cavalierly kissed her hand. She felt that odd prickling in her fingers, the same as she had felt when she shook Emma's hand.

"I had a wonderful time, Mr. Jefferson," she told him. "Thank you."

"It's just Jefferson, Miss Lacey. If I didn't think you were very tired, my dear . . . ." he shook his head. "Well, I just hope I can look forward to another evening with you soon."

"I think that could happen," Belle told him. _Jefferson was easier to be around than her employer that was for sure. _Jefferson had not released her hand and, turning it over, he kissed her palm leaving it tingling.

He bade her good evening.

Belle went on into her place. _Her place. _That sounded so good. A place of her own. Her apartment. She left the lights off, being able to see well enough from the light coming in from the street. She didn't want to run up her power bill, not knowing how tight money would get. She put her leftovers into the fridge. She took her clean clothes out of the washer and hung them over the sofa, the chairs and the little table to dry. No need to use the dryer to unnecessarily use any electricity.

She washed her face, stripped down to her panties and the tank top and crawled into her bed, relishing sleeping in a real bed. This was wonderful. This was the first night in a very long time that she had slept with her shoes off, without her backpack. She still wore her mother's necklace.

She closed her eyes, but the face that came into her dreams was not the tall young man she had just shared a meal with, but a reticent curmudgeon . . . with warm brown eyes and long, clever fingers.

_There were no shadows in her room, in her apartment. _

_Perhaps outside but not in her apartment. _

_Not in the building._

+ + + _Downstairs_

Downstairs Jefferson patiently waited for Gold. He sat in the dark shop, enjoying for the moment the odd supernatural, free-flowing air particles that drifted through the shop. As an Air Elemental, he enjoyed playing with them for a while. This place had the largest concentration of sheerly powerful objects he had ever encountered. It was initially exhilarating, but after a while exhausting, to remain in the shop for any length of time. He closed his eyes and _reached out. _

_Yes, he could feel Miss Lacey's delicate signature touch which she had left as she worked throughout the shop. Definitely part-fairy._

Jefferson heard Gold coming in after ten, escorting the promiscuous but very fine Miss Milah, who was staggering, no doubt having imbibed too much. She was dressed in a lovely cream colored halter top dress with a full skirt that accented her figure, her salon tan and her dark hair and eyes. She had washed her face and looked fresh and innocent (although she was neither). She was hanging on Gold and Jefferson watched with amusement as Gold gently removed her hand from his butt. Gold saw Jefferson waiting in the shop and he pointed Milah up the stairs, explaining he had some business to attend to.

"You had a good time, though, didn't you?" she asked him, holding on to the stair railing.

"Lovely my dear. Now go upstairs . . . to your apartment. . . "

She looked disappointed.

He added firmly, "Or there'll be no more evenings out."

She lowered her voice. "But we could still have evenings in," she said suggestively, leaning forward so he could appreciate her cleavage.

"Go upstairs," he ordered. "Or you'll be out on your arse." He turned away and didn't get to see her make a face at him.

But she did go on upstairs.

Jefferson took this moment to fetch himself a drink from Gold's semi-secret cache as Gold opened the door in the lobby that came into his shop. Jefferson toasted the man as he came on into the shop.

"You are brave dating that piranha," Jefferson told him.

Gold shook his head. "It was a business supper."

"You know she'd do you in heartbeat."

Gold shook his head and poured himself a drink from the cache, Johnny Walker.

"Yeah, I know. Why is that?"

Jefferson smiled at him, "Low self-esteem?"

Gold downed the drink. "No doubt," he said sourly.

"Miss Lacey thinks you're 'kind'," Jefferson told him switching gears without preamble. "Extraordinarily kind."

Gold had to smile at that. He'd been called many things, but never 'kind.'

"Anything interesting in her background?"Gold asked Jefferson.

Jefferson shook his head. "No background with weapons or fighting whatsoever. No sports, even."

Gold frowned. "What are her interests?"

Jefferson grinned at him, "She's a bookworm."

Gold rubbed his forehead. "Marvelous. Just freakin' marvelous."

"She's not a fighter, that's for sure," Jefferson commiserated with his mentor, but then he spilled, "But she nearly had me blubbering re-living my darling's death.

Gold looked at him, "What?"

"She just made a number of comments that hit home and I nearly started crying right there in the entrée."

"Think it's the empathic thing?" Gold asked him.

"Lordy, I hope so," Jefferson told him. "I found myself telling her stuff I haven't told anyone."

"Interesting, I wonder if that's a talent that could work as a weapon - getting information out of an enemy." Gold's fertile mind began imagining scenarios. He quickly turned back to Jefferson, "She's very different from the rest of us, that's for sure. There were some interesting things that happened today, here, with her," Gold began.

"Do tell," Jefferson urged him. He took another sip of Gold's very fine liquor.

"Regina came in and had done her usual shitty job with the elaboration on the map. I gave it back to her, she called me 'a dick' and I told her to keep working on it and then she clicked her heels out of here."

Jefferson had to smile, "That doesn't sound out of the ordinary."

"That's not the interesting thing," Gold elaborated.

"So what did Miss Lacey do?"

"Nothing at that time, but when she was leaving this evening to get ready to go out with you, she told me that the woman who had called me 'a dick,' would do better at whatever she was trying to do if she. . . get this . . . took off her shoes."

Jefferson had to laugh. "Regina, barefoot?! That's priceless!" but then he sobered and added, "Regina pulls on Earth magic. She might actually do better if she was grounded. Miss Lacey may have a point." Then he added with a grin, "Oh, do let me tell Regina."

Gold grimaced, "I'll let you. She's already angry enough at me."

"You said there were a couple of things?" Jefferson asked him, pouring them both a second drink.

Gold took a moment and took a sip, "She tried to feel me out."

Jefferson shook his head, "Feel you out or feel you up?"

Gold glared at his protégé, "She tried to feel me _out_," he repeated, emphasizing the key word.

"You felt her try to _read_ you? You know she has no idea what you are. I doubt she meant anything by it."

"Not a _what_, mind you there, I'm a _who_. You don't have to defend her, Jefferson. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. She didn't find out anything. I didn't let her in."

"Or she didn't push hard enough," Jefferson speculated. "You know, Empaths are supposed to have some weird things going for them when it comes to shields and getting inside of people's heads," Jefferson observed dryly. "It's not like she's a telepath. She operates differently. She would have been going after feelings. Curious, I wonder how we all look to her? It's hard to imagine. Anything else?"

Gold hesitated again, "One more thing. Last night, our finger tips touched and there were sparks."

"Get out! Like visible sparks?"

"No, just a crackle and the energy flow. I could see it but I doubt she did."

"Wow, you dog! I touched her a couple of times. There was tingling but there were never any sparks. Maybe she's got some kind of connection to you?"

"I hardly think so," Gold said derisively. "You said yourself that she was half-fairy and you know my feelings about fairies."

Jefferson wasn't willing to quite let it go, "Sparks though? Sounds like there could be something going on between you two."

"She's younger than Ashley," Gold protested. "I doubt she sees me as anything more than a father figure."

"You're not a father figure, I can tell you that. She told me she'd had a big falling out with her father."

"So she's looking for a replacement," Gold explained.

"Suit yourself. But man, if you aren't interested in the girl, would you mind if I tried for her. . . "

Gold found himself interrupting the younger magician, "Leave her alone. I think she's very fragile and needs her space. It's all right for you to take her out to supper now and again, but I'd prefer you treat her as a friend, not as a potential bedmate."

"You fancy her?!" surmised Jefferson.

"No, no . . . no. She's a new talent that has joined our group and I want to be sure that she settles in. I want to help her maximize her potential and. . . and. . . ." Gold floundered.

"You like her," Jefferson pressed him, a faint smile on his face. He knew about Gold's self-imposed rules and restrictions well enough and clearly found the older man's awkwardness about the girl amusing.

"No, no, not at all. I mean, I don't dis-like her but I don't . . . I don't . . . I mean. . . " Gold was fumbling.

"Listen, I know better than to compete with you. And I'm telling you, you should so go for it."

"Me and a half-Fae Empath? That's a disturbing image. Go to bed . . . please." Gold told him.

+ + + _Alone_

It was very late and Gold now sat alone in the shop. She was very pretty, no question, but he would not be holding out any fanciful imagings that she could ever develop feelings for him. Gratitude, maybe, but other feelings? Affection? Hah! At his age, he was long past romantic entanglements and for him to be nurturing an absurd fantasy about initiating a relationship with this young woman who was likely well on her way to becoming one of his pupils was ridiculous! And a half-Fae at that! It was idiotic! And he had long ago learned that having an affair with one of your students was a recipe for disaster.

It was probably because of that empathy thing. He'd never been around an Empath. Maybe making you feel comfortable and accepted was probably something they did for people. He just felt understood and appreciated when he was near her.

Yeah, that was it, he told himself, grateful that he'd found a clean explanation. It was just a comfort level thing.

**Thanks to my insightful reviewers, I plumped up the dinner date and clarified Jefferson's would-be relationship with Belle (while pushing Gold closer to a precarious predicament). Your feedback absolutely helps my writing. Thanks to: cheesyteal'c, deweymay, Grace5231973, OneMagician, jewel415, Robin4, MyraValhallah, cynicsquest, orthankg1, juju0268, RaFire, RoxyMoron, thedoctorsgirl42, Chauchi, emospritelet, mockorangeflower, Erik'sTrueAngel, ****and Guest (loving) and Anne Andrews (Guest) - thx twyla**

_NEXT: Gold muses over his 'date' with Milah, _

_Gold appeals for help_

_Gold has an unwanted visitor_


	5. Reflections

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

_Belle continues to be overwhelmed with the strange and powerful sensations she feels while working in mysterious Mr. Gold's shop. She spends a lovely evening with Mr. Jefferson who is confronted with old sorrows as he contends with the aftermath of engaging in close conversation with an Empath. _

_Gold ponders the would-be possibilities of a relationship with the young woman but pushes these aside and away, convincing himself that his emerging feelings have been stimulated by the young woman's empathic abilities._

**Chapter 5**

**Reflections**

+ + + _Still the same evening_

The shop was dark with muted, diffuse lighting from the street coming through the window. The furniture and display counters appeared as black obscurely shaped solid blocks without any fine definition.

His little maid hadn't yet got around to cleaning his front window.

He'd have to speak to her about that tomorrow.

Gold found himself smiling, thinking of his little maid, but then . . . he replayed his evening appointment with Milah and he rubbed his head.

He was sitting alone, behind his counter, nursing a third drink. _Good grief, between Lacey and Milah, he had drastically increased his alcohol consumption. _

He thought back on his dinner with Milah. She had seemed very happy to have some time with him, despite his repeated admonitions that This Was Not a Date.

_What did Milah see in him? _He had wondered. _He suspected Milah wanted him because he represented  
Power. Probably that was it. If he wasn't in charge, she probably wouldn't be giving him the time of day. _

_Milah was the type of woman who went for the biggest guy on the football team, brawn over brains every time. _He had to give her credit. She was quite capable of attracting a man's attention, a man's interest.

Earlier, when he had walked upstairs to pick her up, she had met him at her door in a front zippered black latex ultra-short, extremely low cut dress-like . . . uh . . . garment. She was also wearing thigh high, lace-up, shiny, black, spike-heeled boots. There was more material in the boots than in the dress.

+ + + _The Dinner Appointment (Earlier that Same Evening)_

He shook his head. "Milah, no. I'm taking you to a classy restaurant, not dropping you off on a street corner with a sack of quarters," he told her. "Put on something that will make people think I'm out with my daughter."

Milah had silently seethed and overtly pouted, but she had withdrawn into her apartment. In a moment, she had come out in a tight shiny red dress with a peephole opening that showed off her generous bosom. She wore strappy red stilettos on her feet.

He had her change again.

They went through five ensembles before she came out in the off-white halter-top dress. It covered more than the others had, although it was still overtly sexy. He agreed to taking her out in this selection but made a note to himself to have a dress sent over from one of the classier shops in town (if he were ever inspired to do this again).

His black Eldorado Cadillac was waiting for them when they went out the lobby door to the street (she was clearly disappointed that he hadn't selected the Spider).

"This is an old man's car!" she had protested.

"I am an old man, dearie," he'd replied, waving off her protests.

Milah recovered her seductive persona, "I like older men," she told him. "They have _experience._"

Gold nearly rolled his eyes as he held open the passenger door allowing her to slither onto the leather seat.

He drove her out to the Sunset Terrace at Grove Park Inn. Gold almost always took his tenant-students for their first appointment with him to this particular restaurant. He'd found he could learn a lot about them by watching how they managed themselves in a high end restaurant. A very few were at ease, although most were intimidated.

Milah was clueless.

A frequent customer, the wait staff was quite familiar with Mr. Gold. Gold and Milah were seated in a quiet corner of the posh restaurant, Gold preferring as much anonymity as possible. Milah was clearly disappointed (again). She had wanted a seat with a view or, at least, a seat where she was on view.

Milah began by unfolding her napkin and, looking around, she did manage to get it onto her lap (rather than tucking it into her neckline). She first ordered an appetizer, a shrimp cocktail, wolfing down five shrimp in short order and running her finger inside of the glass to get all of the delicately spicy sauce.

"Damn, this is good," she told him, her eyes lighting up.

"I'll be sure to pass your compliments onto the chef," he told her (she missed the sarcasim). _Good lord, would she lick the plate before the evening was over?_

Gold then discussed her dinner preferences and, rather lost in the choices of high end meals, Milah batted her false eyelashes and asked him to order for her. He requested the blue wedge salad and, for the meal, the filet mignon.

He winced when Milah told the waiter to be sure her steak was well done, to be sure that it didn't have any blood showing (that would make her gag). She then asked the waiter if she could substitute fries for the baked potato (she could). And finally, she asked him to be sure to bring her some catsup (he did). At this juncture, Gold ordered their cheapest red wine to have with the meal (Why bother with a premium wine for his Hash House Special dining companion?). Milah topped off the wine order by asking for a straw, explaining that she didn't want to mess up her lipstick.

Gold made another note to himself that if they ever did this again, he would be better off taking her to Webos BBQ (which was attached to a gas station). They served on plastic foam trays and patrons sat at picnic tables. Their food was also excellent but the ambience quite different from the Sunset Terrace.

As he sat across from her at the restaurant, he refused to be drawn off by her cleavage, her aggressive perfume, her shining silken locks, her plump, full lips, her soft sultry voice – oh, she had pulled out all of her feminine wiles. _Modest attire, a gentle fragrance, soft messy chestnut curls, cerulean blue eyes, a quiet smile, a soft, sweet voice, excellent table manners, all this kept rising into his consciousness while he sat across from Milah._

As she poked and prodded her salad, Milah spoke up, "This is a nice place. You come here often?"

Responding to what apparently was Milah's version of clever, witty conversation, he told her, "Miss Regina prefers this place for her reviews. Miss Emma," he smiled, remembering heated negotiations with Emma on where they would have dinner, "prefers 51 Grill and Pizzeria." He would have gone on with all the other places he would take his tenant-students, but he quickly came to the conclusion that MIlah didn't really give a rat's ass.

He watched with some level of snobbish distaste when Milah covered the high end steak with catsup. _He acknowledged that he'd been raised as a peasant but he'd always had an in-born appreciation for finer things and had worked hard to give himself a polished edge._

In the attempt to distract himself from Milah's desecrating partialities, he asked her about her practice.

She pouted (again) but answered him. She was well able to call up winds and sometimes rain but barely a jot more.

Well, maybe a little lightening.

Sometimes.

No, to other forms of precipitation – no hail, no sleet, no snow.

No, to whirlwinds.

Gold then ordered coffee and dessert, requesting the crème brulee for himself and, for Milah, he ordered the sticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream. Milah siphoned the rich food down. _The woman was a bottomless pit. _She was about to the run her finger along the inside of the bowl but, at his glare, she stopped herself.

He directed her to continue to work on her weather witchery and, he consulted his planner, he would expect a progress report within four weeks.

Milah's face fell. She realized that she wasn't making any progress with the man _or with her Talent_. "I don't know what to do," she confessed in a whisper, lowering her voice so that he had to lean over to hear her. "I really don't. I've looked at the books you gave me, but I can't make heads or tails of them. I don't think they're even written in English. It's hard for me to understand what I'm supposed to do," she whined.

He looked up from his brulee and took a sip of coffee. "Do you need a tutor?" he asked.

She looked hopeful. "I think maybe so. Could you help me?"

"Not me. I know someone. I'll make a call," he promised.

Milah sighed and finished off her, what? fourth or fifth glass of wine before guzzling the coffee.

At this point, Gold nearly smiled. He felt that he had doused her would-be passion for him and re-established boundaries.

Milah excused herself and the waiter handed him the bill.

"A niece, sir?" the waiter who had served him on a number of previous occasions asked with just a note of condescension.

"I wish. I could cut her out of my will. No, she's another one of my students."

"She's very attractive, sir," the waiter told him. Gold knew the wait staff must have speculated on the nature of his relationship with all these young women (and young men) that he would bring to the restaurant. He had told them he was an instructor and the young people were all his students. He somehow doubted they believed him.

Milah suggested they stop at a bar on the way back to The House, but he had demurred. She had sighed and then had sat silently in the car on the trip back.

Gold didn't engage her in any additional conversation, instead thinking over his choice for Milah's tutor. He had someone in mind who should be able to put up with Milah's mercurial personality and do a good job bringing out Milah's Talent. He'd wait and make his call in the morning.

+ + + _The Shop – the Same Evening_

Sitting behind his counter in his darkened shop, Gold stretched, rubbing his bum knee. It was past time for bed and he still had one more important thing to do. . . one more unpleasant, important thing to do.

_It might be a cowardly thing, he knew. But he couldn't imagine that Lacey belonged with his group. She was a delicate, fragile little thing and needed to be in a safe place. It was better, it would be better, if he could find another place for her. _

_He couldn't afford the time to train her and certainly not to protect her. _

_And it wasn't because he thought he might be developing feelings for her and wanted to put as much distance between them as he could. Not at all. _

_Nothing like that. _

+ + + _Appeal for Help_

Gold stood in the middle of the Map Room. It was a large open area with soft grey walls. The almost finished Map Table was over to his left. There was a small seating area against one of the other walls. And all along another wall were tightly placed multiple shelves set at right angles to the wall and stuffed with books; it was probably one of the largest arcane libraries outside of the Vatican.

Gold stood in the middle of the room, in the middle of a pentagram, a silver pentagram that had been inlaid into the floor.

He detested this, what they made him do. It _hurt_ him to enter the pentagram. They knew this. It was part of the price of his freedom. Using his cane he managed to lower himself to his knees. This also was part of the price he paid. They relished humbling him. He knew that if he chose to remain standing that there would be hell to pay. He closed his eyes and called forth a cone.

"Reul, I need to talk to you," was all he said. He waited. She might, she might not choose to respond to him. He wouldn't wait for her glorious, celestial highness for long.

"Yes?"

He heard her and opened his eyes. He could see her just outside of the cone and knew they were both in ether-space communicating.

"The House has a new tenant," he began.

"Wonderful. Will this tenant be your new Thirteenth?" she asked.

"I don't know," he paused, then added, "She's a Halfling."

Reul didn't respond.

"Half human, half fae," he further elaborated.

"You are sure?"

It was his turn not to respond. Of course he was sure.

"She's an Empath," he added. "I thought she might be better off with your kind. I have no use for an Empath," he clarified.

"An Empath?!" Reul seemed surprised.

"She should probably be with her mother's people. I'd like to move her to you right away so that we will have the room for the next candidate," he explained.

"If The House invited her in, Gold, then she is _supposed_ to be in your group."

_Damn, Reul was not going to come and get the little chit._

"I thought that maybe The House just called her in to keep her safe until her mother's people could get her. Reul, what on earth am I do with an Empath? The creatures I deal with are not known for making compromises."

She shrugged, even across the many miles and many planes of consciousness, he could tell. She had just shrugged.

"You're very clever, Gold. See what you can do with her."

The cone dissolved.

Gold struggled to his feet. Damn fairy! Damn bitch! Damn her! They _wanted_ him to fail.

_His thoughts returned to Lacey. Well, he'd done his best to find her a new home, a safer home. As unique, as intriguing, as . . . adorable as she was, what the hell was he going to do with an Empath?_

+ + + _Early Morning_

Belle woke up early. It was still dark out. She ventured out of her bedroom on bare feet and checked outside her living room window, peeking behind the slightly frayed and thinning curtain. She could see that it was getting lighter but was still very early. She had no idea how early it was because she had no clock.

She showered _oh, wasn't it wonderful to be able to get a hot shower_ and dressed in one of her other new skirts, this one a golden yellow, and then put on a white tank top. She added some clean black socks that she had washed and that had dried during the night. She twisted up her hair and put on a touch of her lipstick. On a whim she added just a touch of pink to her cheeks using the lipstick. Today she would wear the green sweater.

She quickly folded her dried clothing, stacking it neatly on the floor by her bed. She wasn't sure if she had enough time for breakfast because she so wanted to arrive to work on time. She thought she could go on down to the shop, check on the time and come back upstairs to fry an egg if there was enough time or just grab some bread with butter if there wasn't.

She padded down the stairs and went to the side door that opened directly to the shop. She could see Mr. Gold, dressed impeccably, already standing behind his counter. She was late! _Great, her first full day on the job and she was late! _She gently opened the door _this one, unlike the front door that went directly out onto the street, this one didn't have a little bell. _She tried to walk in quietly.

"Miss Lacey? I wasn't expecting you for another . . ." he glanced at his watch, "two hours."

_It was only seven o'clock! She was very early. _"I wasn't quite sure what time it was. I . . .I don't have a clock. I'll be back in a bit," she turned to go back upstairs.

"Wait," he called to her and she stopped. "May I offer you breakfast again? It would be on the condition that you promise not to throw it up."

_Was he giving her a smile? _She hesitated. "I. . . I. . . I don't want to impose or take advantage."

"I would welcome company at breakfast. I often have to eat alone and your company would be. . . nice." _Especially given that he didn't have to send her back to change her clothes into something less slutty. _

"All right. Let me get my coat." _Free food! Even having a job, she couldn't quite bring herself to refuse free food. _

It was half a moment when she was back in his shop. There were six antique clocks sitting on the counter when she got back.

"You'll have to pick one of these when we get back. You will need a clock at some point, I'm sure. Although having you show up two hours early is a pleasant consequence for me," he added kindly.

Belle smiled at him. _She thought that when he smiled he looked younger. _

"How was your first day?" he asked her as they walked up Lexington to turn onto College Street to walk up to the Green Sage Café. Gold ordered the Farmer's Omelet and Chai Latte. Belle hesitantly ordered the Sunrise with scrambled eggs, home fries and a biscuit. She got plain coffee to drink.

Waiting for their meal to arrive, Belle answered his question, "Wonderful, I hope you were satisfied with what I was able to do. Some of those shelves haven't been dusted in a long time. It's going to take me weeks to get through your entire place."

"And then you'll need to start over again. Think of it as job security," he told her. "Today I'd like you to start by cleaning the front window."

"I can do that," she promised him. Still waiting for their food, he watched her lay the napkin in her lap and patiently fold her hands. _He couldn't imagine her running her finger down into a bowl, at least not here in a restaurant. _"I know you went out with Mr. Jefferson last night. I trust he was a gentleman?"

"He was very nice. He told me about his . . . problem and how well he's doing now. And he told me how much you've helped him."

"He usually doesn't talk about his . . . problem," Gold alerted her.

"Really?" she seemed surprised. "I am getting the idea that you are fond of helping people." She looked him right in the eye.

He blinked.

Their food came right then saving them an awkward moment. As they began eating, Belle tried another tack, "You know I probably won't be able to eat all of this."

"Eat what you're comfortable eating," his voice was low and comforting. He watched as she forked small amounts of scrambled eggs, alternating with a bite of biscuit and another small forkful of the home fries. _She probably wouldn't douse a forty dollar piece of meat in catsup._

"You are being so nice to me. I keep expecting to find out that you're going to want me to do a murder or something illegal to pay you back," Belle's eyes were twinkling.

"_Or sleep with me," automatically the response came into his head and he had to bite his tongue to prevent it from coming out. _

_Why, why would that thought have occurred to him? She was too young for him. She couldn't possibly have feelings for him. He didn't really know her. She was one of his tenants and he never had affairs with one of his tenants – not now. Never again. _

_Unbidden, Gold felt his body responding. Damn. _

Belle smiled slowly at him. _She felt a sensual heat coming off the man and her sharp eyes thought his eyes had darkened. In another man she would have interpreted the sensation wafting over her as desire, but she couldn't wrap her head around the possibility that cool, imperturbable Mr. Gold would think about her. . . that way._

Unable to stop himself, Gold gently put his hand on hers. There was that odd spark again.

"Did you feel that?" she asked him immediately distracted. He nodded. "What is that? I felt it the other evening and thought it was just static but feeling it again. . . ?"

"We seem to have some sort of connection, Miss Lacey," he hadn't let her hand go.

She ducked her head, "I don't understand." She felt him squeeze her hand.

He shrugged. "I don't either," he admitted and released her hand. "Well, we need to finish up and get back to the shop," he told her, reluctant to bring the meal to an end.

As they walked back to his shop, he put himself between her and the street. He saw her glancing around. _Did she see them? Sense them? The little shadows, the dubhar. They were growing in number. They were all around. _

The walk in the brisk, cold morning air brought his body heat back down to normal. _What had he been thinking? _

_He had been thinking of asking this little half-fairy bit out on a date! But not one of the 'appointments' like the one he had with Milah. But he barely knew the girl. But his body had reacted to her, no question about that. But he had this hard and fast rule - No dating the tenants, the students, his protégées or whatever he wanted to call them. _

_That way lay madness. _

Once back in the shop, he watched her hang up her coat in the back room and then promptly clean the front window with glass cleaner and several soft cloths. She then dove back into her dusting job picking up where she had left off. She heard Mr. Gold on the phone.

"Did I wake you? . . . My apologies . . . How are you doing? . . . . Well, it could be worse, I suppose. . . . Now do I need a reason to call you, my dear? . . . . All right, then yes. . . . I need your help . . . . That's right, one of my tenants . . . . She's not making progress . . . . Because she is more interested in impressing me with her bedroom talents than with her other talents. . . . That's right, you know my rule . . . So would you? . . . Yes, of course, I'll have a place for you to stay. . . . Well if you want to stay with him, you'll have to take it up with the man himself. . . .The usual deal. . . . Right. Thank you. . . . I'll look for you then."

_Who was he talking about? Milah? The one that Ashley had said wanted to jump him? And just who had he invited to come and stay? _Belle shrugged. That's what you get for eavesdropping – half a conversation and no closure.

+ + + _Later that day_

Later in the morning a tall leggy brunette in florescent scrubs with an unnatural red streak in her hair came into the shop and hunted Belle down. "This must be Lacey," she said and introduced herself, "Hi, I'm Ruby. I lent you the sweatpants and teeshirt. I'm in 2D."

Belle thanked her for the clothes loan and promised to return them promptly.

"No problem. Most of us in this building have needed fresh clothes, a fresh name or a fresh face at one time or another." She gave Belle a hug. _There was that tingling again._

"I'll get them back to you. You said you were in 2D?" Belle asked.

"I'm at the other end of the hall from you. I've just finished working a double-shift to cover for a friend. I'm totally beat. I'm going upstairs and I'll sleep for eight or thirty-six hours. We'll have to get to know each other soon." Ruby went on upstairs.

Belle had an instant liking for Ruby. She seemed open and honest.

"She seems nice," Belle said to Gold as she was about to return to her job.

Gold didn't respond. He wanted to tell Lacey that of course she would like Ruby, who wasn't human either . . . but he didn't tell her. _For that matter, she would probably like Leroy – for the same reason._

Belle excused herself at lunch time, letting him know that she had last night's dinner leftovers for her lunch today. She heated up half the leftover food in her small cast iron skillet. There was no microwave, so she popped everything in the oven. She had to use a towel for a hot pad. _Hot pads, hot pads needed to go on her growing list. _She plated her food onto an odd Blue Willow china plate which had a tiny chink off the back rim and poured herself some tap water. She carried everything into her living room area where she could eat and watch the foot and car traffic below.

It was so nice to be warm and have hot food, something besides beans and rice. And clean clothes. And a safe place to sleep.

If she could now figure out what the heck was going on with this house and its odd tenants. _There was that odd tingling whenever she touched any of the denizens, Mr. Gold (especially Mr. Gold), Jefferson, Emma, Ruby. And they were all working on. . . something for the man. And the odd customers who came in to buy 'protection.' And the strong sensations she got from different items in the place, sensations that made her dizzy . . . or afraid . . .or powerful. _

+ + + _After Lunch_

Belle returned from her solitary lunch and continued with her work. She had turned a corner in the shop and she could no longer see the counter or the front door. She was busy working on an enormous cabinet with glass doors that held what appeared to be a complete set of Wedgewood blue and white china. She was carefully handling the china. She had checked the price tag of the set and knew it cost about as much as a new car, well maybe a small, used economical car.

Then it was as if the temperature in the shop had dropped suddenly.

She had heard the bell and knew someone had just come in. She heard voices, low and indistinguishable. She tried to focus on her job but curiosity began to overcome her. She kept dusting but worked her way back around to where she could see the counter. There was a woman, a handsome, well dressed older woman, with dark red hair, standing, talking with Mr. Gold.

They seemed like they might be arguing, at least the woman looked to be arguing. She was gesturing and posturing as if she was trying to intimidate Mr. Gold. He was standing quite still behind the counter and his replies were short and clipped. Belle felt uncomfortable eavesdropping but wasn't quite ready to work her way back to where she had been.

She could hear snippets of their conversation.

"You aren't welcome here," Gold told the woman.

"But you can't keep me out, can you?" the woman laughed. _She actually laughed at the man._ "I guess when you made the decision to allow my daughter to stay here it created a bit of tangle in your wards - blood ties and all that."

"Your daughter belongs here," Belle could hear the menace in the man's voice. "You don't."

"Well, I am curious if you're offering my daughter the same "fringe benefits" you offered me," the woman went on. She leaned in, "You know I'd like to see you on other side. There are many of us that would welcome you, would truly appreciate your unique talents, would encourage you to properly express yourself." Her voice had softened and she laid her hand on his arm.

There was no response from Mr. Gold.

Belle's curiosity increased as she wondered what was going on in this exchange and she again began to creep forward so that she could better see and hear what was going on. She wasn't watching exactly where she was going and tipped over a stack of old 45 records, scattering them on the floor. Both the woman and Mr. Gold turned to her.

Belle straightened up and smiled. She spoke up, "I'm sorry. I'll pick these right up," and she bent down to start picking them up.

"My, my, and who is this little thing?" she heard the woman ask, her voice almost a purr.

"I have a girl helping here," Gold told her. "She dusts and sweeps."

"And knocks things over." The woman was snippy.

"Sometimes," Gold agreed.

The woman took a couple of steps over towards Belle and, abruptly, Belle felt threatened. _Whoever this woman was, she was definitely not friendly! _Belle managed to give her a vapid smile and, finished with the stack of records, she retreated around the furniture out of view of both the woman and Mr. Gold.

Belle realized that she was sweating, her palms clammy, her heart racing. She began to take slow, deep breaths. She closed her eyes and began to _reach out. She could sense Mr. Gold. He stood in an aura of gold, shimmering, even sparkling. Next to him was something. . . nasty. The feelings poured into her, a combination of hate and lust and avarice. Something rose up out of the mishmash of energetic emotions. It was powerful and dark. It started to turn . . . and . . . it started to look for her. . . ._

She pulled back quickly and shut herself off. She slumped down and sat on the floor, still as she could be, as small as she could be. She could_ feel_ it. A shadow entity oozed into the room and it crept around _looking_ for her. Everything became deathly silent. The shadow pushed and sent out slivered fingers . . . black and oily . . . poisonous.

She remained sitting as still as she could, willing the thing to go away, to leave her alone. She closed her eyes, feeling the darkness enclosing her, not quite . . . not quite . . . not quite touching her.

**Thanks to my amazing reviewers (who keep sending me ideas and refinements): The Prince's Phoenix, RoxyMoron, RaFire, Robin4, orthankg1, lrjuni92, Tinuviel Undomiel, OneMagician, EevyLynn, Grace5231973, thedoctorsgirl42, Chauchi, MyraValhallah, Erik'sTrueAngel, deweymay, Aletta-Feather, spacecats, juju0268 and karolprado**

**Anne Andrews (Guest) thx, I like writing Gold/Jefferson interactions. I seem to go out-of-control when I write Milah; I want her to be a bitch but she ends up being more funny and sympathetic.**

**jewel415 (Guest) I'm sure you got from this chapter that Gold and Milah Did Not Go On A Date. He tries to have individual sessions (to review their progress) with each of the tenants and will take them out to eat for some one-on-one from time to time.**

**Victoria Black (Guest)send me a pm if there's something specific that you find I'm doing (some things that I do are actually conscious style choices, although others may be related to the demon-possessed Document Manager which actually _changes my writing_ when I upload it – I try to catch these changes with multiple proofings (but it becomes like a dissertation after awhile and you read what you thought you wrote). -twyla**

_NEXT: Some secrets are revealed; Belle finds some interesting things in the shop_


	6. Invisible

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

_Gold is finding himself increasingly attracted to his new maid, despite her fairy ancestry and his own misgivings regarding close relationships with his tenants. He cannot help but compare 'Lacey's' delicate, fine style to Milah's over-the-top vulgarities. The little maid continues to capture his attention and his imagination. _

_And Miss Belle continues to speculate on just what she has gotten herself into. Late one afternoon she encounters an unwelcome visitor in Mr. Gold's shop and is attacked by a slithering dark shadow. _

**Chapter 6**

**Invisible**

Belle made herself as small and as still as possible. She held her breath. She focused on emptiness, nothingness, non-existence. She pictured the room as it was before she had entered it, every cup, every plate, every book, every lamp, every table, everything piece of furniture, everything. It was as it had been and she was not there.

The oily black shadow slid and slithered around the alcove she had retreated to. It poked and prodded with its elongated, slender, slimy fingers all around the room, looking, seeking, trying to find her.

Belle focused a while on thinking that there was no one in the room, that she was invisible. When one of the fingertip tendrils brushed against her, she shivered. It left behind the stifling oversweet scent of decay. Belle could also feel an insatiable hunger and a hatred of all things alive and healthy. She changed her focus to sunshine and refreshing fall breezes and cleansing spring rains and rainbows.

Kittens and puppies, tiramisu, new mown grass, babies giggling.

A pair of warm brown eyes.

Abruptly, in a flurry of darkness and pain, the thing slipped out of the room, in a swift flowing motion, as if it were being retracted, sucked up by something more powerful _or perhaps it had faded quickly to get away from something more powerful_.

Belle _knew_ it had gone.

For, how long? she sat still, breathing again, slowly and as shallowly as she could manage. It was a long moment before she ventured to open her eyes. She found that Mr. Gold was crouched by her.

"What kind of stunt did you just pull?" he asked her angrily.

"Wh. . .What? I don't understand," she told him.

He put his hands on her upper arms and shook her, "Don't play innocent with me, Miss Lacey! What did you just do?"

She didn't like him being angry with her. She stammered again, "I. . . I . . . I don't understand."

He looked hard at her. He took several deep breaths, closing his eyes briefly, as if to calm himself down. Still crouched down, he spoke between his teeth, "You were just attacked by a _bocan_, a ghost shadow. I had to forcibly evict Miss Cora and then come back to find you. By the time I got back here, it was gone. How did you get rid of it?"

"I . . .I . . ." she wasn't sure what to say. "I . . . I didn't do anything. I just _looked _at you and that woman and then the shadow came after me. I just crouched down here."

His eye narrowed. "You. Just. Crouched. Down," he repeated and then roughly pulled her up, his hands gripping her arms, "Those things don't just slither away from their prey. I was expecting to find your bleached bones and your little necklace in a pile back here. You _did_ something," he accused her.

"I didn't do anything!" she insisted, trying to pull away from his firm grip on her arms.

"Miss Lacey or whatever your real name is, I know what you are," he told her.

"You do?" her question was ingenuous, open and honest. "What am I?" she asked him.

He noticed her eyes had widened with what? curiosity? "You must know that you're able to put yourself into people's heads!" His brown eyes were locked with hers. He took another couple of deep breaths, stilling himself and lowered his voice again. "Everyone in this house has Talent. You wouldn't have been invited in if you didn't have Talent. You must know you're able to do things that most other people can't do! You, my dear, can get into people's heads and know what they're feeling!" He spoke softly, his lips near her ear.

Belle felt tears spill out of her eyes. She slowly nodded her head. "I don't mean for it to happen. It started when I . . . when I . . . ." she couldn't finish.

"It started when your period started," he told her curtly.

She felt herself growing hot and knew she was blushing. _How could he speak of such personal things? But he seemed to know something about this. _She sniffed and answered him slowly,"Yes, I would know how people were feeling about things before they said anything. Even when they would say something different, I would still know," she confessed. "I didn't know that others couldn't do what I was doing," she told him in a tiny voice looking down at this harsh grip on her arms.

Seeing her glance, he relaxed his grip on her arms . . . a bit. "You have to be very careful. You're playing a very dangerous game, especially around here. Cora is one of the most dangerous creatures you'll ever meet and probably twice as dangerous now with that shadow thing that has attached itself to her."

"I didn't try to get into that woman's head!" she protested. "And that thing that came after me! It just appeared out of nowhere!" she told him. "I saw it. It came looking for me!" She looked up at him. "What did it want?"

He gave her a feral smile, "What do you think, Miss Lacey? It wanted to possess you, kill you, fuck you . . . whatever it could manage."

He felt her shudder under his hands. _She was frightened. Well, she should be frightened._ "Now, tell me again what you did so that it didn't find you."

"I tried to hide from it," she told him.

"Well," he looked around the room. "Apparently you did. I'd like to know _how_ you managed to hide and avoid the slimy bastard."

"I don't know. I just made myself small," Belle hesitated. Then she added, "And then I thought pretty thoughts, thoughts about kittens and sunshine and nice stuff."

He looked at her, both puzzled and bemused. "You'll have to show me how that's done sometime," he told her.

Belle managed to nod one more time. "I . . . I . . . I've never met anyone else who could. . .who could do what I do."

There was a moment and then he released her and stepped back, "You still haven't."

"But you said. . ."

"We have _different_ Talents here. Telepaths are most similar to what you are, but they hear thoughts. You are in tune with feelings. You're an Empath."

"I am?" she asked in wonderment.

He was struck with her real amazement regarding the nature of her Talent. She really was an innocent. She didn't know. She'd had no training. She was regarding him with her eyes wide and . . . a bit fearful.

_Damn fairy. To give birth to and then abandon a sensitive child like this._

And he was pissed with himself. He had frightened her. The most fragile, delicate flower of all the Talented and he had shaken her and shouted at her. _He could be such a prick._ He gave her what he hoped was a kindly smile. He brought his hand up and gently touched her hair, "You sweet girl, what's your real name?"

"Isabella," she whispered her answer, suddenly feeling as if she had made herself even more vulnerable to him.

"Isabella? That's a nice name. Sometime you'll have to tell me why you didn't feel like you could tell me that when I first asked you. How about I call you Belle?" he asked, keeping his voice soft and dropping his hand to her shoulder.

She looked up. "Do you read minds?" she asked. _Where had he pulled that name from?"_

"More or less, but I didn't just then. It's disrespectful to read your friend's thoughts unless they know you're doing it."

"Belle is what my mother would call me," she told him, dropping her eyes.

He stood very quietly, one hand still resting on her shoulder. He placed his other hand on the side of her face. _Almost a caress._

"Do you remember your mother?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Not really, she died when I was very young. She was my father's second wife. He never seemed to get over her passing."

He hesitated, "Do you mind that I call you Belle?" he finally asked.

She considered, "No," _Somehow it felt right for him to call her Belle._

"Belle, this House is a sanctuary for people with Talents, people who are a bit different. The House selects us and invites us in. Everyone who is here, is here because they are _supposed_ to be here."

"So this is a safe place?"

"Usually, yes, this is a safe place," he confirmed _when we aren't fighting off minions from Hell, devil-imps, banshees or soul-sucking fiends. _

_She felt like there was something else. _"Why are we here?"

"To take care of others," he told her.

"But I can barely take care of myself," she told him. "How can I take care of anyone else?"

He released her and turned away. "I don't know. I know you made a good suggestion for how Regina could augment her Talent. How'd you know that?"

Belle blushed again. "I could see _around _her and things kinda stopped at her feet. She wasn't. . . connected. It was like there was a break in the energies. . . " she didn't know how to explain it.

Gold considered. "Interesting. Thwarted by seven hundred dollar Ferragamos." He didn't seem to be talking to her at the moment.

"Do you want me to move out?" she asked him a tiny voice.

"Wh. . .what? No," he told her, but he seemed distant. "I need to figure out why The House wanted you here. Empaths are exceedingly rare and I'd always thought they weren't particularly useful." _But you're apparently powerful enough to single-handedly face down a bocan ghost shadow. Not too many full-fledged practitioners could do that. _"But if The House wanted you here, then you must belong here. You must belong here." He seemed to be talking as much to himself as to her. He stopped and looked at her again, "Do you want to move out? I would arrange for you to get another job and find you another place to stay."

"I don't know. If I can be helpful. . . You are the good guys, right?" she suddenly asked him shyly.

He almost chuckled, "Yes, Belle, this week, at least, I'm one of the good guys. Everyone here, they're the good guys."

As he started back to the counter, he told her, "You are going to have to learn to control your abilities, you know that. I will see about getting Ruby and Emma to help."

"Wha. . . What are their Talents?" Belle managed to ask him.

"I'll let you figure that out," he told her, cutting her off.

As he was about to walk out on her, she made one last effort, "Wha . . . What are you?"

He stopped and turned. There was a long pause, as if he was debating if he was going to answer her. "I'm an Elemental Master," he finally said.

"Oh," she had no idea what that was. "But you don't have empathy?" Belle asked him to be sure.

"Not really. Not that I've ever been aware of. Not that I've ever used," he admitted.

"So, I'm kinda unique."

He smiled back at her, "You are special," he agreed.

Belle picked up her dusting cloth but hesitated to begin her job again. She pulled back from the walls of the room, all the places where the evil spirit had touched. Gold could tell and thought it likely that Belle could still _feel_ where the oily shadowy creature, the _bocan_, had spread its poison. He instructed her to wait a moment while he limped into the bowels of his back room and returned carrying a long elegantly carved . . . stick. He gently waved it around the room following the path of the shadow creature.

"That should make you feel better," he told her and gently he touched her hair again before he returned to the front desk.

Belle watched him, open-mouthed as he'd walked around the room waving the stick and then left her standing. _Did he just wave a wand around the room? An honest to goodness wand? _

_+ + + A Breakfast Invitation_

At five o'clock, Mister Gold let her know that her day with him was over and insisted she pick out a clock for herself. She selected a small porcelain desk clock from the ones he had pulled out for her to see. It was white with pretty little blue roses and light lavender blossoms painted on it.

He tentatively suggested that he would not be averse to her joining him for breakfast tomorrow morning, that is . . . if she would like to. He had kept his eyes on the counter when he had made his suggestion and only at the end, did he look up, "Would you like to join me?"

Belle had smiled at him, "If it wouldn't be an imposition?"

"No, not at all."

_He was clearly relieved. _Then, Belle told him, "I'd love to."

_+ + + A Quiet Supper_

When she got to her room, Belle placed the pretty porcelain clock on the floor next to the bed. She set the alarm for six thirty. She then sat in the darkness of her living room with the curtains open, looking out at the traffic in the city considering getting up to heat up the rest of her leftovers. Maybe just a sandwich. She had some bread, ham, and cheese. And some canned mandarin oranges. And she could make some tea.

She fixed her meager sandwich supper and then ate it, sitting in her living room¸ mulling over her change in fortunes.

She thought about what he had told her. _An Empath. _

_She was an Empath. _

_Well, that explained a lot. _

_So she hadn't been going crazy. When she was still at home and the bad dreams had started, she had become too afraid to go to sleep and become too afraid of being in large groups and become too afraid of being around others and become too afraid of . . . just everything. They had diagnosed her with an anxiety disorder and began giving her increasingly powerful drugs. But the drugs seemed to make everything worse. _

_So then they tried other drugs._

_And more drugs. _

_And then they had locked her away._

She had learned, on her own, how to shut out the feelings, well, most of the time she could shut them out. She slowly 'got better' and they allowed her out with close supervision. Still skittish, she remained uncomfortable around people and had taken to spending most of her hours in the library. It was quiet and calm (and not too many people).

Even then, sometimes, strong feelings would just come out of nowhere and overwhelm her, but, she had kept getting better, a little, maybe a lot. But, she was judged to be fragile and delicate and still had to be watched all the time in case she started to lose control. She had various keepers, who worked in shifts, when she went out in public. After all, they didn't want her to embarrass her family. It was important that she maintain appearances.

But the time came. They had been on a publicity tour of the United States when her father had told her, had shared his plans for her with her. She had gotten angry with him and his decision that marriage and having a baby would distract her from her crazy anxieties. She knew all that wouldn't help. And the craziness was so encompassing so that still, even though she was some better, all the while she was still afraid of embarrassing her family, her country, herself. So one fateful night she had decided that the best thing she could do for herself, her family and her country was to slip away, to disappear, to run away.

It was the bravest thing she had ever done.

She had taken some money and she had run away. Far, far away.

And ended up on the streets, a genuinely dangerous situation. And there, the fears had gotten worse, far worse than anything she had experienced before. While on the street she had first encountered the little shadows, the things that haunted dark basements, and alleyways and lived in closets and under beds. They were everywhere. They fed on fear . . .and she'd been afraid all the time.

And because she had to, because she had no choice, she had learned to make herself invisible.

But then, she had gone from a dangerous situation on the streets to a dangerous situation in this building.

But there were no shadows here. Or had not been except for this afternoon when one of the biggest, meanest ones she'd ever encountered came after her. It had come into the shop with That Woman.

Belle got up to clean up from her supper.

Just what was the mission of these people? Could she trust them? She certainly had felt safer with thim.

And just _what_ was Mr. Gold? He had been so nice but he had been clearly angry and upset after the Shadow Incident. _What had he called that thing? A bocan?_ He had shaken her. He had hurt her in his urgency to find out what she had done. What had she done? She had reached out and touched something, something unpleasant, something evil. It had fled but she knew it had been looking for her. It had fled and she wasn't sure if it was because of anything she had done or if she had just been lucky.

Then he had become nice again as if he was sorry and embarrassed for having shouted at her. And invited her to breakfast.

She enjoyed his company but. . . . _Who was she kidding? She was immensely attracted to the man. When he had touched her face she had wanted to lean into his hand. She had wanted to throw herself into his arms, his safe and comforting arms. His warm chocolate eyes, his long, talented fingers, his very presence . . . he made the craziness go away. He made her feel calm. He made her feel . . . right. _

No, no, no, the man had saved her from destitution. He had given her a job, food, a place to stay, a safe place. What she was feeling was gratitude. Yes, gratitude. She was grateful for everything he was doing for her. There was no attraction. How, why would she feel attracted to a man old enough to be her father?

It was just gratitude.

Thankful that she had gotten a better grip on her emotions, Belle settled in to her apartment, looking around. Her room was so quiet, with only the noises of the street coming up. Maybe she should buy a radio with her first paycheck. Or did she need one of those cheap phones first? She laughed at herself. Now, why would she need a phone? Who was she going to call? No, not a phone, a radio would be nice.

Belle removed her skirt and bra. Then dressed in her undies and tank top, she turned into bed. Having a full stomach and a warm bed was wonderful and she never intended to ever forget it. She was asleep when Gold walked up the stairs.

+ + + + _A New Day- Saturday_

Belle awakened before the alarm went off, grabbed a shower, dressed in her new black skirt with one of her older blue tops. She put on her lipstick and ran her fingers through her hair. She had plenty of time to make her breakfast appointment (date?) with Mr. Gold.

He seemed happy (almost relieved) when she came down the stairs, already wearing her heavy coat.

"Miss Belle, or should I call you Miss Lacey when they might be others around?" he'd asked.

"Belle is fine," she told him _she rather liked him calling her Belle._

"Miss Belle, may I suggest The Early Girl Eatery?"

"Certainly." _It's your money_. Belle had been by the moderately priced restaurant but had never been able to afford more than a look.

"It's a bit of a walk," he told her and helped her with her coat and then offered her his arm. They walked up Lexington, walked the steep hill up Walnut Street, then down Haywood to Battery Park and then angled left to Wall Street to get to the restaurant. Gold ordered the Early Girl Benny, a grit cake topped with poached eggs, tomato, spinach and avocado with gravy and a biscuit. Belle ordered the less expensive Southern Breakfast with two eggs (scrambled) with grits and toast. With Gold's encouragement, she added some sausage.

They ate companionably with Belle updating him on what she had finished up with in his shop and what she hoped to accomplish today. She would catch Mr. Gold looking at her from time to time, speculatively. When she would look at him, he would look away.

"This is Saturday," he said.

"I believe so, yes sir," she answered, pleasantly agreeing with him.

"There'll be a paycheck waiting for you this afternoon."

"Thank you. I . . . " she started to talk, stopped herself, but then continued, "I know I've said this before, but I really want to thank you for this job and the apartment. I'm immensely grateful."

He locked eyes with her and then looked away. "You've been a hard worker, Miss Belle. You're doing a very good job." _Not to mention you're easy on the eyes and easy on the ears and sweet and gentle . . .and intriguing and . . . ._

"Thank you. I . . . I hope you remain happy with my work," she told him.

He waited a moment, seemingly reluctant to say what he was about to. "Miss Belle, we need to consider getting you some training. Your Talent is unique and I'm not quite sure how to go about finding out more about it. I'm certainly not sure how it can be used to benefit our little group."

"I couldn't help but overhear your phone call yesterday," Belle began. "You called on someone to come to help with one of your tenants."

"That wasn't for you. . . although, there may be some help there. If anyone could . . . yes, maybe, _she _could help with your training."

Belle looked at him, questioningly.

"Not exactly an old friend, but someone I have a working relationship with. She helped me out one time when I had been pretty badly hurt. She was the only one who came and helped me and she got in trouble for it. She's . . . mostly trustworthy. At least I'm pretty sure she doesn't lie to me or try to mislead me. We have the same enemies."

"So the enemy of my enemy is my friend?" Belle asked knowingly.

His eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled back at Belle, "Exactly."

_+ + + A Bookish Interlude_

Once back in the shop, Belle promptly got back to work picking up at the point she had left off. Gold could hear her. Occasionally he could hear her bumping into things but there were no crashes. Often he could hear things moving around; Belle was evidently dusting and sweeping behind some of the furniture. Sometimes there was a gentle clinking of dishes and he assumed that she was moving things out of some of the cabinets, cleaning and then moving things back into the cabinets.

Then it got quiet.

He waited awhile.

But it remained quiet.

He debated, but eventually he became concerned that something might have happened to his little maid. _Could Cora have left some part of that dark, nasty entity in his shop and had it been lying in wait for some innocent soul? _He left the counter, knowing that he would hear the bell should someone come in. He knew about where Belle had been and made his way back through the corridors and through the different alcoves that made up the massive shop. He missed her the first time through. _Had she managed to make herself invisible again? _It was on his second pass that he found her. She was sitting in one corner in one of the old high backed chairs with a book in her hand. She had drawn her feet up and looked rather tiny in the over-sized chair.

"Miss Belle, is everything all right?" he asked.

She startled and jumped to her feet. "Oh, oh!" she blushed guiltily, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn't have been doing. "I'm so sorry. I was dusting out one of the cabinets and I found a little cache of books." She was excited, her blue eyes sparkling. "And this was one of them," she held up a leather bound volume. "It's a first edition _Pride and Prejudice!_ Did you know you had this?" she spoke in wonderment.

He almost smiled, "Of course, dear. You're a Jane Austin fan, I take it."

"Oh yes, of course. This is in such wonderful condition. It's probably worth more than five thousand dollars! You really ought to put these books out in a more secure location, in a case to protect them and where people can see them," she lectured him. "And you have _The Tale of Two Cities. _Do you have others?"

"I'm sure I do," he answered, "Perhaps, you will want to work on that as you go along. You can gather the books up and then we can find a place for them out front. I'll see if we can find a proper bookcase to put them in." He had to smile at Belle's enthusiasm.

Belle carefully laid the precious first edition aside. And, with an embarrassed smile, she went back to her dusting work. She lost track of the time and was surprised when Mr. Gold called her out. He asked if she'd want to join him for some grilled chicken empanadas from Salsa's.

Belle stood a moment, "That sounds so good, but you don't have to feed me breakfast _and_ lunch."

"Miss Belle," Gold was suddenly serious. "You are an excellent worker. And I know that you have no funds and you have been close to starving. How about, when you get your first paycheck, you buy me a meal?"

Belle thought about this. "I'd like that. But you still don't have to feed me breakfast _and_ lunch. I appreciate it, please understand that. I'll agree to lunch today and breakfast tomorrow, but then I need to be responsible for my own lunches."

He looked at her steadily, then gave her a small smile, "So I will get to keep breakfasts with you. It's a deal."

Belle was surprised. She hadn't meant that but . . .well, she did enjoy her breakfasts with the man. She didn't want to give them up. She should argue about it with him, but . . . he . . . he seemed so lonely. She was really doing him a kindness. _Just as he was helping her._

They enjoyed their lunch together eating in the back alcove where Gold could hear the bell if someone came in. Belle shared that she had never had Mexican cuisine before _which surprised Gold _and then she chatted about some of the other volumes of books she had found, her excitement coming through in her voice and in her eyes. She had found a couple of esoteric volumes like _Potions and Elixers_, _Behind the Veil, _and_ Singing the Sabbats. _She asked Gold about them. He asked that she put such volumes aside and he would peruse them and find a special place for them later.

After clearing up from lunch, Belle again returned to work. She continued to hear different customers coming in and out. Some came to sell items, some to buy.

No one ever came in to just browse. Everyone had a purpose, something for which they needed help.

**I continue to be staggered by the kindness and comments of my reviewers. Things are about to heat up for our players. Thanks to : Robin4, OneMagician, The Prince's Phoenix, RaFire, thedoctorsgirl42, RoxyMoron, karolprado, Psyko-chan, emospritelet, juju0268, cynicsquest, Erik'sTrueAngel, VinterNatt, spacecats, Chauchi, cheesyteal'c, jewel415, deweymay, Ying-Fa-dono, orthankg1, MyraValhallah, Aletta-Feather, WillowlovesRumbelle, Anne Andrews (guest), Guest (anon love)**

**Guest(listing): There are thirteen in the house. You forgot Gold and Belle (of course). Along with Regina, Emma, Ashley, Ruby, Mary Margaret, Milah, and Jefferson, I've also mentioned Archie and Killian. Leroy has been obliquely referred to. There is one other that hasn't come into the story just yet. **

_NEXT: Gold reveals something of his own history, Ruby and Emma drop by Belle's for an unexpected supper and (oh no!) The House is attacked._


	7. The Attack

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

_Belle has survived an attack of a particularly vicious shadow creature and learned, from Mr. Gold, that she is an Empath. Acknowledging this, Belle realizes that much of her adolescence, when she was haunted by fears and feelings, was the emergence of her Empathy Talent. _

_As for the ever difficult Mr. Gold, astonished that Belle survived her confrontation with the shadow creature (by thinking happy thoughts, no less), he is beginning to widen his views on exactly what an Empath might be capable of. _

**The Attack**

**Chapter 7**

+ + + _Late Afternoon Confessions_

It was late in the afternoon and Belle had gone to stand by the counter, _his_ counter.

Gold was so engrossed in reviewing his sales and recording his new inventory, that he didn't notice her at first. He startled when he looked up and saw her standing by him.

"Miss Belle! I didn't hear you come up. Is there a problem?"

"No. I was just wondering something," her blue eyes were guileless and wide with curiosity.

He was immediately on high alert, suspicious, too many years of being approached by guileless, curious, beautiful women who wanted something from him. He waited until she expanded.

"Everyone who comes in here sells you something or they buy something," Belle stated.

"That's why I'm in business," he reminded her gently. _What was she getting at?_

"But no one just wanders in here to look around, to browse."

_Ah, it was about The House. _"I told you, this House is not ordinary. People don't notice it unless there is something the House can do for them. How many times did you walk by this place before you noticed it?"

Belle considered. "I don't know. I know I would have told you that I knew every building in downtown Asheville, but I know I hadn't noticed this building until I was desperate to sell my mother's necklace."

"But when the time was right, when you needed it, you found this place."

"When did you find it?" she asked curiously.

_All right, now she was going after him. _He remained quiet for a moment, reluctant, considering. "I was in a bad place," he began. "I was offered a choice of staying where I was or coming here."

"And you chose coming here?" she asked.

"It wasn't really much of a choice. The House welcomed me and I was able to make a home here."

"Were the others here when you came here?"

He shook his head. "No, actually not. The House was empty. At that time, the building was a one story warehouse and I lived in one cold, dark corner. The only part of that original living space is my back room."

"Really?!" Belle was astonished. "The building changes! How does that happen?"

He gave a short laugh, "It changes to fit the needs of the times. When things started getting bad here . . . when the shadows and the darkness first began pressing on me, The House decided that I needed help. One morning I left for breakfast and when I came back there was a second floor and a sign in the window 'Room for Rent.' By the afternoon a young woman had come by, seen the sign and joined me here to help me deal with the shadows."

He got quiet for a moment. "After a time things quieted down and the woman left for. . . other. . . interests. The House returned to what it had been. But then, after a while, history repeated. I went out for breakfast, came back and the House had a second story and the sign in the window said "Rooms for Rent." Jefferson wandered by. He was higher than a kite. I gave him a job and uh. . . things went from there with him. Then Regina came. She'd just left a bad home situation and gotten a job with the mayor's office and was really tight for money. They were the only ones for awhile. Then the House decided we needed more help and our numbers increased to seven, then it was nine and, most recently, thirteen, a full coven."

"So how long have you been here?"

He looked at her, his brow furrowing, "I think . . . it's been at least, I guess . . . eighty years or more."

Belle gaped at him; she was truly astonished. The man looked like he might be in his fifties, but that would mean that he must be at least . . . she shook her head. _No, it couldn't be_. "How old are you?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"I don't know exactly," he evaded her question.

"How about approximately?" She was standing very close to him and he could smell her warm, sensual perfume.

It took him a moment to realize that she wasn't wearing any perfume, warm, sensual or otherwise.

"Uhmm. . ." he hesitated.

"Do you not know?"

"Not exactly. I remember growing up on a little sheep farm in the Highlands. I never knew my mother and my father was in and out, mostly out, which was not bad thing. I learned to herd sheep, shear them, clean and card wool and a couple of spinster aunts taught me to spin wool. And that was my life growing up."

Belle was standing, leaning on the counter, her eyes bright and interested. "Then what happened?"

"I . . . I started to be able to _do_ things," he said simply.

For a moment, Belle didn't make any response. Very softly she asked, "And people got scared of you?"

He stood still a moment before he nodded. "Yeah."

There was another long moment and he added, "And there was also this girl. A beautiful girl. I remember she had long black hair, unusual in my part of the world. I had wanted to court her, but her family had more than I did," he gave a derisive laugh. "Every family had more than I did."

Gold paused again, recalling something that had happened long, long ago. "I wasn't considered a good match for her." He took a deep breath, "So I decided the best thing for me to do would be to go out into the world and make my fortune. I had this idea that I would ride back into town and be able to impress her with my new-found wealth and sweep her off her feet."

Belle was smiling. "What happened?" She had reached out and taken his hand.

"I went out into the world, signed on aboard a ship, sailed the world. I learned a lot, about the ways of the world . . . and about my powers." He stopped for a moment. "I did well. I had amassed a modest fortune by the time I decided to return to my birthplace."

There was a long pause. "When I got there it was different. I mean, _really _different. It was much, much smaller than I remembered. The streets were laid out the same, but the houses were different. The places I had remembered as grand. . . they had decayed. There were new houses. My old homestead was deserted and had nearly disappeared into the ground."

"And the girl, the girl that you wanted to impress?" Belle pressured him.

"No one knew the girl that I had been working so hard to impress. I finally found her . . . in the graveyard. It was at that moment that I realized that I had apparently been away for more than the span of an ordinary life. I understood then, for the first time, just how _different_ I was."

"What did you do?" Belle had not released his hand.

"I went back out to my old homestead and took a few things from it, then torched the remainder of the structure to the ground. Then I left, never looking back, and went back out into the world," he shrugged and put his hand on top of hers.

"And from there you eventually went to 'a bad place?'" she said sadly.

He nodded, "I had unwittingly come to the attention of some very powerful forces who had decided that I might be a threat to them. They had discovered some of my weaknesses, rendered me powerless and I was taken to the bad place. I stayed there a long time."

He sighed, "And then I came here."

She stood quietly, just holding his hand, "And then you came here," she repeated.

They stood a moment. He glanced into her eyes _her bright blue eyes that radiated comfort and concern _and then he focused his gaze on her hand. It was so soft. She had never done hard work before. _He wondered if she were soft and smooth like that all over . . . soft and smooth . . . all over. And she smelled like vanilla and roses and honey – would she taste as good as she smelled?_

He blinked and swallowed. _Best not go in that direction_ he told himself.

"Miss Belle, I believe it is quitting time for you," he finally managed to say, breaking the quiet spell that had been woven unwittingly around them.

She removed her hand. "Of course, sir. I'll see you for breakfast then."

He nodded in agreed, "The shop is closed tomorrow, so we can go someplace special."

_Belle considered. He looked so lonely, so vulnerable. What had happened to him? What was the bad place? She had wanted to ask but had sensed that he hadn't wanted to talk about it. _

_And his hands holding hers had been so warm. She could feel the strength in his long clever fingers, his hands, used to hard work. She wondered what if would feel like to have those strong fingers trace along her body, touching her, perhaps moving along in slow, leisurely circles, teasing . . . stimulating . . . arousing . . . . _

She stopped herself. _No, no, she shouldn't be thinking like that. He was much older. _

_Much, much older._

_Certainly more experienced than she was. _

_He probably knew a lot of . . . stuff. _

_No, no, no! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!_

_He was her landlord, her employer, and what? her teacher?_

_She shouldn't be thinking like that about him. _

She gave him a quick, little smile and went on upstairs to her room. She began to consider what she might have for supper. There was still some sliced cheese and ham. She had mustard and bread. Maybe she could find some fruit. She rummaged through the few cans that she had in the cupboard. There was some fruit cocktail that she had picked up. That would do. Maybe she could make some hot tea again. That would make for a nice meal. She had pulled out all her ingredients and was about to begin to make her sandwich when there was a tap on the door.

She went to the door and opened it against the chain. "You forgot this. Your salary. . . " he added by way of explanation and Mr. Gold handed her a plain ivory envelope through the gap. She apologized for her forgetfulness and took the envelope.

"Did you want to come in?" she asked _hopefully._

_Yes. Oh lord, yes, yes, yes. He wanted to come in and do things with her. . . for her . . . to her. _"No, I have some things to attend to. Maybe another time." And he left.

Belle closed the door again and tore open the envelope. He had paid her in cash and she counted two hundred sixty dollars in twenties. She shook her head. _Absolutely too generous by far. _She took out twenty to take to Rosetta's Kitchen to donate for their _Everybody Eats_ fund and she hid the rest of the money in several places around her apartment. Then she went back to her bland supper plans. She had gotten out two pieces of bread when there was another knock on the door.

_Maybe he had reconsidered coming in! _

She bounded over to the door.

She heard someone, "Lacey?" they were calling her.

It was Ruby with Emma on her heels.

"Ruby? Emma?" Belle let them in.

"We come bearing pizza!" Emma announced and flourished two large boxes.

"And beer," Ruby held up a six pack. Ruby was wearing another tee shirt over some sweatpants. This one said _The Chocolate Fetish, Asheville, NC. _

"We thought we'd drop by and give you a welcome to the building," Emma told her. Emma was wearing jeans and a tank top.

"Yeah, you've been cooped up with creepy Mr. Gold now for three days," Ruby said, flopping down on one end of the sofa in the living room. "We figured you could use a dose of normal."

Belle was a bit embarrassed by her lack of furnishings and started to pick up one of the chairs from the little table set off in one corner of her kitchen to bring into the living room area.

"No problem," Emma waved her off and sat on the floor.

"Lacey, we know you came off the streets. It's nothing to feel embarrassed about," Ruby reassured her and gestured for Belle to sit on the sofa next to her.

"Gold pulled me off the street," Emma told her. "And Jefferson and Jones and Milah and Mary Margaret. The rest of us he rescued from badass situations."

"Like me," explained Ruby.

"He. . ." Belle hesitated, "He. . . He told me that everyone who lives here is _different_. That we have a mission, a purpose."

"Scared the hell out of you, didn't he?" Ruby said laughing. She glanced at Emma.

"We all can do things that a lot of people can't," Emma admitted.

"But then he clammed up and wouldn't talk anymore," Belle shared.

"Yeah," Ruby shrugged. "That sounds like him."

"You think you're ready to hear?" Emma asked.

"I don't know," Belle answered honestly. "I know I never met anyone else who could do anything like what I do."

"From what I hear, you still haven't. You're pretty unique," Ruby told her. "I am too. I'm a shapeshifter."

Belle looked puzzled.

"I can change into different animals. Actually I can change into any object that has a reasonably similar size to my body, but I usually go with a wolf," Ruby explained.

"Really?" Belle wasn't sure what to make of this.

"Yeah, I don't get much mileage out of changing myself into a copy machine. A wolf works better. I've only known one other shapeshifter and that was my grandmother. I guess it runs in my family," Ruby explained.

"How . . . how did you find out you were a . . . what you are?" Belle asked.

"I was in high school and I was being chased by some bullies, that's another story by the way, and I ducked under a house. I was angry and scared and wished I could get them and bite them or something and when they tried to follow me under the house, they started screaming that there was a monster under the house. I turned around to look but didn't see anything. It took me a little while to realize that _I _was the monster. I had spontaneously shifted into a wolf. I ran home in that shape and my Granny recognized me for me and helped me change back."

"Wow," Belle was amazed. "Do you have to be scared or mad to change?"

"For the longest time that was the only time I could change, but when I got here, well, I had run away from home and was with this biker gang. Anyway I got in way over my head and Gold rescued me. He offered me a place to stay and da da . . . " Ruby opened her hands, "here I am. He started training me to change at will and helped me change into other things besides a wolf."

Belle shook her head. _This woman seemed so nice and . . . sane. _"You know this is really hard to accept," Belle told the two women.

"But you do accept it because you have your own Talent," Emma told her knowingly.

"Maybe," Belle said. She got up for a moment to get out some of her mismatched very slightly chipped plates, a Lenox Classic Rose, a Royal Albert Old Country Rose and a Rosenthal Midnight Rose and then, distributing the plates for the pizza, sat down again with the women in her little living room.

"Tell me about yourself, Emma," Belle asked the other woman while picking out a slice of pizza for herself.

Emma popped a beer. "Oh, I came here from the streets. I'm an orphan and had been a ward of the state all my life. I was one tough momma. But I didn't made good decisions. I was dumb enough to break into Gold's shop to steal something of value. Arrogant bastard was waiting for me and gave me a choice of jail or a job."

"You took the job?" Belle asked.

"You betcha. I thought I'd be able to weasel my way out of it, but . . . well, nobody breaks a deal with Mr. Gold. I had no idea I had any Talent until he began pressing me."

"What happened?" Belle was fascinated.

"I didn't believe him. I used to call my telepathic skills my 'super power,' and I'd convinced myself that I just had really good "people reading" skills. I had totally ignored my other abilities."

"So?"

"He kept pushing me, putting me into these unreal situations and I kept trying to ignore him."

Belle had to smile at this, "He's pretty hard to ignore."

"Got that right. I think he got tired of me whining and putting forth these weak-ass rational explanations. He took me out to the roof, threw a freakin' fireball at my head which would have cooked me if I hadn't blocked it."

"Oh my!" Belle was alarmed.

"I guess he figured the only way I would learn to swim was if he threw me into the deep end of the pool. He was right. I blocked it." Emma was on her second piece of pizza.

"That would have been so sudden. How did you manage?" Belle was concerned.

Emma pulled back and scrutinized Belle, "Oh yeah, I totally see your Empathy thingy coming in to play." She got very quiet. "I . . . I . . . started crying, like I hadn't done in . . . ever. And he petted me like I was his three year old daughter who'd fallen and gotten a bad boo-boo on her knee."

"And you recovered?" Belle asked.

"Yeah, pretty much. I was back at his door asking for more training the next day," Emma admitted.

"So what are your 'other skills'?" Belle asked her.

"Well, I'm a Water Elemental but I can also do some Fire magic and just a bit of Air."

Belle nodded, _as if she understood what Emma had just told her._

"Now, what do you think of Mr. Gold?" Ruby asked Belle.

"He's interesting. Dark, intense," _with soft brown eyes, a hard body and killer fashion sense._

Emma nodded knowingly. "Oh dearie dear, you've fallen under one of his magic spells."

"Really?" Belle asked, believing what the pretty blonde had just told her. _Could he cast spells? She hadn't thought of that. He did keep a wand in the shop._

"Yeah," Ruby told her. "You actually think he's a nice guy."

"He has been nice to me," Belle told them. "He gave me a job and a place to stay."

"Oh, come on now," Emma took a swig of her beer. "Don't tell me that you haven't been looking over your shoulder, half expecting him to be some kind of middleman for a sex trafficking ring? You must have had the passing thought that you'd wake up in a box on your way to outer Aboo-Aboo. Who else offers jobs to pretty girls with no references, no family, completely down on their luck?"

Belle looked down at her plate. "Yeah, I guess I did have my doubts," she admitted.

"You'd be a trusting fool if you hadn't had doubts," Ruby assured her. "We all did when we first came here. That's why Emma and I decided that, at the first opportunity, we'd go and talk with any new recruits. Try to answer any questions." Ruby took bite of her pizza.

"Plus he told us to go talk with you," Emma shared taking another swig of beer. "You got any questions?"

"Tell me. . . tell me about Mr. Gold," Belle finally asked.

"What's to tell? He runs this place. He teaches us to use our talents," Ruby answered.

Emma took a bite of the pizza. "'Teach' is a generous term. Remember. . . fireball. . . head. . . "

Ruby waved her off. "He only did that with you, Emma, and only because you were so stubborn. He took me step by step teaching me more about shifting. Sweet as pie."

"What?!" Emma exclaimed. "You always said how much he weirded you out because he could change one limb at a time."

"Well yeah," Ruby agreed. "But he was still very patient."

Belle digested this, "So Mr. Gold can shapeshift _and_ throw fireballs?" she asked.

"At least. And much more. I mean, he's taught Jefferson who uses air, Emma who uses water, Ashley who uses fire and Regina who is mostly earth," Ruby told her.

"He told me that he was an Elemental Master," Belle told them.

"At least," Ruby confirmed.

"What does that mean? An Elemental Master?" Belle asked them.

"He can manage air, water, earth and fire energies. Most Elementals can just do one or, at the most, two elements," Emma explained. "A few of us, like Regina and myself can manage two elements well and a little of a third." At Belle's confused expression, Emma continued, "He can use the energies around him and change them into weapons or tools, make things _do_ things."

Belle tried to digest this. "OK, then. How about his personal life? I mean has he had, does he have a wife or a girlfriend or children or anyone?"

Ruby shook her head, "I've known Gold for more than three years and I've never known him to go out with anyone, if you don't count the occasional evening meal out to grill a girl over her 'progress.' Now Milah keeps hitting on him," Ruby continued. "She's had the pee purple hots for the man ever since she moved in but he's not given her the time of day."

"I don't think she's really after him," Emma told them. "She once got drunk and told me that he gave her the heebies but she thought he was worth going after because of his . . . his power. She thought that being his girl would put her in a position of prominence and prestige."

"Get out!" Ruby said. "I thought she actually liked him."

"Nah, she really likes Killian Jones," Emma said. "He lives next to Jefferson on the third floor," she added for Belle's benefit.

"Well, both of those guys are pretty hot," Ruby shared.

"I've met Mr. Jefferson," Belle told them. "He took me out for supper the other evening."

"Ah, he can be such a sweet heart. Of course, he's a bit touched in the head, so watch yourself around him," Ruby gave her a heads-up.

"A bit touched?" Belle was curious.

"He had a drug problem for a while," Emma answered. "Pretty sure he's clean now. Gold trusts him and that says something."

"Mr. Gold. . . he really does help people?" Belle asked.

"For his own ends," Emma told her.

"He said we have a mission?" Belle asked.

"Well, yeah. I'm not sure how much to share. . . " Emma was hesitant. She was about to start talking when there was a loud alarm that went off.

"Fire alarm?" Belle asked, jumping to her feet.

"No!" Emma answered her as she and Ruby were both springing up and heading towards the door.

"Attack alarm! On the roof," Ruby shouted back. By now, both women were out of the apartment running towards the staircase. They ran up the stairs. Belle peeked out of her apartment and, after a moment, she followed them. She heard other people above her, charging up the stairs and, with trepidation, she timidly began to go up the stairs.

Emma briefly stopped and called down, "Lacey, you better stay there. You've not been trained for this," and then she was off.

Belle hesitated but she wasn't going to miss out on this. She had not even been aware that they could get on the roof much less that there would be attacks on The House. _She'd thought The House was safe. _She hoped it wasn't another one of those _bocans_ or, even worse, a whole bunch of them. She crept up the stairs and, at the top of the stairwell, she found a door that was standing open. As she stepped through it she came out on the roof but then she promptly pulled back into the doorway, her mouth opening in amazement at the sight that greeted her.

There were small dark shadowy shapes, twenty, fifty, maybe a hundred, a lot, all dropping down on the people on the roof. She could make out Emma, Ashley and the dark-haired woman who'd called Gold 'a dick.' They were all throwing fireballs at the shadows. There was a giant grey wolf snapping at them and biting them into two (or more) pieces. Another pretty dark-haired woman seemed to be directing mini-lightning bolts at them. Jefferson seemed to be just standing there, but as Belle watched, he would direct his attention at one of the shadows and the thing would begin swirling around and finally dissipate in a cloud of dust. There was another tall dark-haired man who was snagging them with a long silver sword blade that glinted in the minimal moon and street light of the evening. When he would touch one with the blade the shadow would explode into dust.

It might have worked if there were only fifty of the shadow creatures, but the numbers of the little dark cloud attackers seemed to be multiplying and the creatures began to surround the combatants, first pulling down the woman who was throwing lightning bolts. The tall dark-haired man with the blade rushed over to help her, stabbing his way through the shadow creatures that surrounded the woman like cotton balls but then going down himself as the creatures seemed to swallow him up. Then Ashley went down and then . . . Jefferson. The shadow creatures shifted to focus their energies on the great wolf; Emma and the other woman weren't able to fire-ball them for fear of hitting their wolf-ally.

Belle suddenly became aware that Gold was standing next to her, watching the carnage. She turned to him, "There are too many of them! Can you help them?"

He glanced down at her and then turned his attention back to the beleaguered tenants, fighting a losing battle, overwhelmed by superior numbers.

Belle heard him sigh and then he stepped out onto the roof. She watched as he held out his palm and a fireball appeared. And then the fireball grew and grew, growing many times as large as anything any of the women had thrown.

"Close your eyes," he told Belle and she did, but even with her eyes closed it was like someone had set off a flashbomb. She could see the light behind her eyelids.

After a moment, when there were no further sounds, she flickered her eyes opened. Emma, Ruby, Ashley, Jefferson and the others that she didn't know where all scattered around on the roof, some lying flat, some sitting up. They appeared stunned, not moving or moving slowly. There were no more of the shadow creatures.

Gold was standing with his arms folded. He didn't look happy.

"Everyone, down to the Map Room. Now," he said brusquely and then he turned and left.

**A.N. Thank you, thank you, thank you all you wonderful reviewers (for your support, your insights and your ideas): Robin4, thedoctorsgirl42, RoxyMoron, Jewelzy, Guest (e-mail at lunch), emospritelet, Guest (other person), RaFire, Tee-Cup, orthankg1, cynicsquest, cheesyteal'c, juju0268, Guest (something worse), karolprado, Chauchi, MyraValhallah, Grace5231973, Aletta-Feather, mockorangeflower, spacecats, deweymay, Ehann (Guest), Erik'sTrueAngel, Wondermorena, VinterNatt**

**Anne Andrews (guest) (I thought Belle would have to be a Jane Austin fan - I've given serious consideration to writing Pride and Prejudice as a Rumbelle romance, but it may be a little audacious, even for me – it's one of about four stories I have on the back burner)**

_NEXT: Gold debriefs Belle after the attack_

_Belle reveals a vulnerability_

_Gold considers his own weaknesses_


	8. Aftermath

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

_Gold has shared astonishing news about his own background and Belle has realized that he is an extraordinarily talented (and long-lived) individual. He has also shared that The House, itself, is a remarkable structure that adjusts to the supernatural requirements of the times and the community._

_An impromptu supper with Ruby and Emma is interrupted by an attack alarm and Belle watches as The Good Guys get thrashed by an unremitting wave of little shadow creatures. They are saved by Mr. Gold's timely arrival as he takes out all the shadow creatures in one gesture. _

**Chapter 8**

**Aftermath**

Slowly, nursing unseen bruises and aches the group managed to limp their way back inside and then down the one flight of stairs to the Map Room. Belle held back. She wasn't sure if she was a part of this or not. The others all ignored her, but Jefferson gave her a quick wink.

"Come on, princess," he told her. "You're one of us now," and he offered his arm to her. Belle winced when he called her 'princess' but she dutifully allowed him to lead her into a large room. There was soft grey paint on three of the walls and wood paneling on the fourth wall. There was one wall with multiple bookshelves completely crammed with books and papers. There was a large table at one end of the room with small replicas of buildings set on it. There was an enormous silver pentagram set into the floor at the other end. There was also another long table set near a wall with multiple chairs around it. The group was settling themselves down into the chairs around this second long table. Belle hung back again, trying to be inconspicuous.

Gold had already settled in at the head of the table. He had his arms folded and his eyes downcast and Belle could feel waves of something like sadness emanating from him. When he looked up, he caught Belle's eyes, and now she felt flaring anger.

_Sad and mad. _Easy to read. Hard to ignore. _Didn't have to be an Empath to figure out how he was feeling._

There were some empty seats, mostly around Gold, as if by distancing themselves the individuals of the group could mollify what they anticipated would be his harsh response to their failure.

"Belle," he called her by her true name, not the name she had given to the others, "Sit down here," he pointed to a chair next to him.

_Great, she was trying to remain discreet and in the background, but he had called the entire group's attention to herself. _She gave him a weak smile and went over and sat down, slumping down and sitting absolutely still.

She felt like everyone was looking at her._ Maybe if she thought happy thoughts the group would quit looking at her; it had worked with the bocan._

There was a long period of silence. Gold sat still for a moment before raising his eyes to the group. Belle almost cringed away from the radiating waves of anger and disgust coming from the man.

He finally spoke, his voice soft and low, "You were taken down by _dubharim?" _His disappointment and disapproval had to have been apparent to even the most socially imperceptive.

"There were a lot of them," Emma spoke up first.

"They were _dubharim_! Little shadows!" he raised his voice. "You, this group, is supposed to be a bulwark, an ultimate defense against the dark forces and you were taken down by a bunch of little pissant shadows! This was obviously a test of our defenses and you failed it – miserably! When the outcome of this battle gets back to . . .to . . . anyone, they will know that this group is a joke, a weak, ineffectual, laughable joke!"

"We did our best," the dark-haired woman who was throwing fire-balls with Emma spoke up. "We just aren't strong enough."

Gold glared at her. "Your 'best' is going to get you killed. Remember what happened to Graham? Anybody here still think what happened to him was an accident?" He held the entire group in his gaze. "Go back to your rooms," he ordered. "Lick your wounds. I will decide what needs to be done." Beaten down, the group slowly got up and slunk away without looking at Gold. "Not you," he told Belle who was trying to tiptoe out with the others.

She froze. _Had he been talking to her? __Was she supposed to have done something_? She waited with an uncomfortable level of anticipation.

When they were alone, he turned to her. "What did you see?" he finally asked.

"Sir, I . . . I don't know that I should comment. . . "

He interrupted her, raising his voice. "What did you see?" he asked again, his voice sharp.

Belle couldn't meet his eyes. She spoke softly, afraid of what his reaction might be. "They fought as individuals."

"What do you mean?"

"Emma and the woman that called you a name . . ."

"Regina," he supplied.

"Emma and Regina and Ashley were getting in each other's way. The others should have been trying to herd the shadows to a point that those women could . . . fireball them but instead the others were fighting the shadows off themselves. And they weren't very good at fighting. If the woman who made the lightning bolts could have called up a wind, perhaps Jefferson could have used it to funnel the shadows in towards Emma, Regina and Ashley and then Ruby and the other man with the sword could have prevented them from leaving."

Gold had sat quietly while Belle gave her impression of the fight. He didn't say anything for a while but then pushed his chair back with a scraping sound against the wooden floor.

"No teamwork, huh?" he finally said.

"I really, I really don't know what I'm talking about," Belle said, shaking her head.

"Yes, you do. They still all work as individuals, not as a team. Each person does their own thing and they don't work together." He stood and began pacing. "I think you're exactly right. Hell, maybe they needed to get their collective arses kicked to make them rethink what they're doing."

"They still depend on you to rescue them," Belle added softly.

Gold stopped pacing. "Yes, they do."

"And Regina and Emma don't like each other," she finally shared.

Gold nearly laughed at her comment, "They don't, but I don't think you have to be an Empath to pick up on that."

Belle looked up at him. "But they need to work together."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Yes, they do," he agreed.

He paced for a short while then turned back to her.

_He had spent the better part of his evening trying to figure out why he had told Belle all about himself. He had never told anybody about his early life. Yeah, yeah, he knew she was an Empath. She made people feel comfortable. So comfortable, a person would just spill their guts. He had known what she was and he had still yielded to her spell. Little witch. Was she doing any of this on purpose? Was she trying to get under his skin?_

"Come with me," he ordered her, holding out his hand to her. She hesitated a moment, but then took his hand and stood and walked with him out of the room and across the hall. He opened the door and, still with him holding her hand, she felt like she was passing through an invisible curtain as she stepped across the threshold. She realized that she was in his apartment.

It was twice the size of her place. She was pulled along, passing several closed doors. Then there was a sleek steel and black granite kitchen with what appeared to be a stone floor. There was a dining area with a solid wood table set under an elaborate wrought iron chandelier. Needlepointed wooded armchairs were set around the table and all was set on a plush area carpet.

Gold continued to pull her along and they ended up in his living room. She looked around. Windows covered with thick velvet curtains on one side. The living room was decorated with high-end antique furniture, velvet and tapestried fabrics, and tasteful additions such as a plush Oriental carpet, tiffany lamps and carved teak curio boxes. One of the boxes caught her attention. It was plain, dark wood, probably mahogany. _Something was inside the box._

Gold caught her looking at the box but said nothing, directing her over to a chair.

His place was what she might have expected. It was beautiful but still managed to retain a strong masculine aura. Nothing dainty or fragile, everything strong and purposeful. It was grey stone, wood tones, and iron. She thought it looked like the inside of a castle.

"Have you had supper?" he asked her, settling himself in a golden velvet chair.

"Ruby and Emma had come over and we were sharing pizza and . . .and beer," she told him.

"Ah, so they were introducing you to their Talents?"

"Yes sir," Belle answered softly.

"What did you think?" he asked her.

Belle looked at him. "I . . . I don't know," she answered honestly. "We just got as far as Ruby's and I hadn't had much chance to hear what Emma can do. She does something with water and she's a telepath and I saw that she can throw fireballs. It's a lot to take in."

"But you are a believer now, aren't you?" he asked her directly.

"I . . .I . . .I guess," she stammered._ After what she had seen tonight, it was hard not be a believer._

He still sat opposite her in the golden velvet chair. It had mahogany arms and legs and a high back. _It reminded her of a throne. _"They were testing us," he said in a subdued voice. "And we failed."

"But _you_ beat them off," protested Belle.

"That's right. So if you were them, you would . . .?"

Belle thought for only a moment before answering, "I would put every bit of energy, everyone I had, everything I could muster together and I would focus on taking you out." Under her breath Belle added, "If I didn't think I could take you down, then I could divide your people, force you to choose who to defend and then I'd take out the undefended group, taking out your people half at a time."

He slowly nodded. "So I have to get this group working as a team, working together. I have to get them strong enough to stand without my help."

Belle didn't say anything. She felt uncomfortable sitting in his luxurious apartment, answering his questions about his people. She wasn't sure why he had invited her into his home. She had a feeling it wasn't something he typically did. He seemed like the kind of man who would guard his privacy fiercely.

He leaned back and sat quietly, steepling his fingers as if he was thinking something over. "I have been trying to figure out _why_ The House invited you in. If it was because you needed help or if it was because you were the one we needed to help us."

He shook his head, "I have reviewed _everything_ I can find out about Empaths, which is damn little. There have only ever been a handful and each one has been different from the others, different skills, wildly different abilities." He sat without moving, staring at her, making her even more uncomfortable. "You are acutely sensitive to feelings, as I would expect an Empath to be. But you also seem to be able to see blank spaces, _where_ things are missing." He continued staring at her intently for a moment. "What is it that you _do_?" He turned on her, his anger from earlier in the evening still in the forefront of his thoughts.

Belle _felt_ him as he allowed some of this angry psychic energy to wash over her, to _push_ her and _probe_ her. He was still furious and the strong feelings permeated his touch. It was . . . unexpectedly intense, relentless, almost harsh. She pulled back, unwilling to allow him into her most inner recesses but he _held_ her still. She tried to push back, to sidestep him, to avoid this intimate examination. She crumpled to the floor. He was too close, too close.

"Please, stop," she begged him, just managing to get a hand up to try to ward him off, tears spilling out.

"You can't stop me?" he said in surprise and she immediately felt him pull back. He stood up. "What the hell happened to your shields?" He began to pace. "This is no good. You are too vulnerable. Anything could just come at you." He seemed to remember something, "How the hell did you stop the Shadow yesterday?"

"I just made myself small," she told him. She couldn't meet his eyes and had remained sitting on his fine blue Persian carpet.

"Yeah, I still don't get that," he told her. "What did you _do_?"

"I made myself small," she repeated. "I got very still and pulled into myself and just kinda made myself invisible." She still couldn't look at him instead focusing on his high priced shoes as he walked back and forth.

He shook his head. "No, that doesn't explain it at all. I don't understand. You held off a _bocan,_ one of the strongest, meanest shadow creatures, but I just cut through your shields like they weren't there at all."

She sniffed, "I don't know what happened." _She had no idea._

He sat back down again and continued, "And somehow you managed to chase if off by thinking about fluffy kittens and snowflakes on mittens." He shook his head, "We've got to work on your shielding. If I had been an enemy I would have shredded you a moment ago. I do not understand why the _bocan_ didn't take you apart."

She nodded. _What was 'a shield?'_

He stood, "Tomorrow night. On the roof top. You be there at eight o'clock." He held out his hand to her. She looked at his hand and took it. He helped her stand.

He walked her out of the apartment and down the stairs. Once to her door, she opened it and then turned back to him. He was standing close, so close. _She could feel the heat coming from his body._ He wasn't touching her. _She could smell him, smoke and spice and something very wonderfully male._ He whispered to her, "Belle. I am sorry. I'm terribly sorry." _His voice, low and rumbling, thrilled her_. "I shouldn't have come at you like I did. I had no idea." _She wanted, she wanted to lean into him._ "I was trying to find out how you can help us here." He put his hand on her chin and lifted her face to his. "You do want to help us?"

"I . . . I think so," she answered, still uncomfortable meeting his eyes.

He allowed his hand to touch her on the cheek and then his fingers slowly trailed back to her ear brushing her hair back. He was standing very close, his force of presence encompassing her. He felt warm and solid and safe and comforting. Gently his hand came back to her chin and then, with excruciating deliberation, his forefinger brushed against her lips, outlining, tracing them.

There was a long moment.

"I like this lipstick you've been wearing," he finally said in a husky whisper. He gave her a tight smile and then pulled back leaving her in the hallway in front of her apartment.

Belle managed to step inside the door and lock it behind her. She leaned back against the door.

_What he had just done?_ What had happened had been the most erotic moment of her life, so much more exhilarating than any of the chaste kisses her suitors had given her, so much more than anything Gaston had done, had tried to do with her. Gaston had grabbed her, pawed her and slobbered on her. It had been more repulsive than arousing. _He'd made her skin crawl. _

Belle touched her lips which were still tingling from his touch.

_If Mr. Gold had pressed her, if he had kissed her, if he . . ._

She wondered if he had felt the same.

+ + + _Upstairs_

Gold sat in his apartment nursing a glass of whiskey.

He was mulling.

He was mulling over the attack and the disastrous attempt his group had made to fend it off.

He was mulling over Belle's insights into the problems his group was having.

He was mulling over Belle.

She had faced down that _bocan_, the shadow creature that had become Cora's constant familiar but then she had wilted under one of his psychic probes and had collapsed on him. He had been very angry (_not at her)_, but nonetheless, she shouldn't have had the reaction she'd had – as if she were being violated. This weakness - _a serious liability. _Could she be taught to protect herself? He was going to try.

He had to.

He rousted himself and went across the hall into the Map Room. They had the city map almost completed with just that last section that Regina was supposed to be working on. Exact replicas of the buildings of the city with hot spots for both light and dark magic indicated. Archie's watchers had been roughly created out of clay and placed on the map. A pattern was emerging.

They were surrounding The House.

_Why didn't they just go ahead and mount a full bore all-out attack now? _

He knew the answer. They feared him. And rightly so. He had confidence that he could hold off nearly the entire host single handedly.

But Belle was right.

They would be coming after him, throwing everything they had at him. It would just take one slip up on his part. And if he was taken down, they would be able to dispense with his little coven in a heartbeat. The Fae wouldn't come to their aid. Hell, they wanted him out of the picture. It would be a win-win all around if the shadows took him out; well, except for him.

He knew he had some vulnerabilities. The Fae, _those bitches, _knew about them.

They had used the Silver Magic and had managed to take him down with it. That had left no room for any doubt regarding his ultimate alliance.

He was Dark Sith, _Unseelie_, Winter Court.

Since that time he'd prepared an amulet to protect himself against the Silver Magic. It didn't give him total immunity but at least now he could come into contact with the metal without experiencing searing pain.

He realized that the delectable Miss Belle would certainly be vulnerable to Iron Magic for, unquestionably, she was of the Blessed Folk, the _Seelie, _Summer Court. He needed to make an amulet to give her some protection. He would get Leroy's help and see to that tomorrow.

The Fae, _those bitches_, during his interminable stay with them, had also discovered that their blood (should he be unfortunate enough to ingest it) would neutralize him for a while.

Plus it made him puking sick.

The Fae had done that to him enough times when they had him as their 'guest.' Even a miniscule amount would be enough to stifle his talents and weaken him with aching bone pain, fever and racking waves of cramps and nausea.

That first time, he had lain on the floor of his cell, helpless in the throes of a total digestive collapse. They'd let him lay in his body waste, so weak that he'd been unable to shift himself onto a privy, too weak to raise his head to vomit into a bucket (if he had had one), so weak that he'd been unable to move himself back to his cot. He'd eventually recovered . . . in time, but each such episode had been most undignified and unpleasant and had left him soiled and broken. He hadn't liked feeling helpless while in the clutches of his enemies.

He was not with the Fae now. They watched over him, he knew. But he was not with them now. He (mostly) trusted little Marilyn _at least she had a healthy respect for his abilities and he didn't think she'd dare cross him _and he didn't think that Belle would have a clue that she could likely use her blood to incapacitate him _at least he fervently hoped she had no clue she could do such a thing._

_But he had yet to be able to develop a potion to protect himself from the damn stuff. He needed to be wary._

He took another sip of his whiskey.

There was something else. He had thought of it a long time ago.

It could hurt him _but it would definitely hurt everyone else. _

The Dark Curse.

There were very few who knew of it and many of those insisted that it had never existed or was lost beyond recall. The most powerful curse in the entire supernatural world.

The Dark Curse would take everyone to a world without magic, well at least change this world into one without magic. And the change was permanent, well, at least for a hundred human generations. It was said to have been cast long, long ago and magic was only now, over the past five hundred years or so, slowly returning to the world.

He stood looking over the map table, drinking his whiskey. He knew that after The Curse had first been spoken it was then scattered onto five scrolls. It was a long, elaborate spell, as might be expected. For each line, one scroll of the five would have the correct line of the spell. The other four would have the same wrong line. There was also an athame that had been used to cast the curse; it had been broken into five pieces and each piece was then paired with one of the scrolls. He knew where four of the scrolls with their knife pieces were, but, he also knew, part of the Curse, one of the scrolls and part of the knife had been lost. He had searched for it to no avail.

Without the missing scroll and knife section, the Curse could never be reconstructed and could never be recast.

_Useless._

_All that power, gone to waste_.

No, he decided, it was still the Silver Magic and the Fae Blood Magic that he should be most concerned with. The Shadow Liege would likely direct his minions to try to find a way to use one or the other. Fortunately for him, the Shadow and his minions had the same sensitivities to Silver Magic and Fae Blood Magic that he had. They would have to find someone who wasn't sensitive to it and convince that entity to try to come after him with it. Lotsa ways for them to do that, bribery, extortion, seduction.

Gold smiled. Of course, those who were in his little group who would be susceptible to such practices also struggled with managing silver and Fae blood themselves. He'd had to work with Leroy to get an iron-handled but silver edged sword that Killian could wield. Milah and Regina had no protection from silver and avoided it at all costs. Now Jefferson, Gold trusted this man. The only vulnerability that Jefferson had was his daughter and he and Gold had put strong wards around the child. He would know if something happened to that child.

He trusted his people . . . to a point. Those with _Unseelie _attachments, he kept a close eye on. _Truth be told he kept a close eye on those who were aligned with the Seelie elements. _But he still felt (reasonably) safe. He knew The House . . . The House was his greatest ally in this endeavor. As long as he was in sync with The House, then The House would protect him. And he took care to stay in sympathy with The House.

As for the Fae, he didn't feel under immediate threat from them. They thought they had him under their boot and that he would never dare challenge them. _He had, after all made a deal with them . . . and he never went back on a deal._

He took a swig of his whiskey.

For right now, the Fae were correct. He dare not challenge them.

_However, should the time come, when he might be able to recover the missing scroll and athame piece. . . ._

**Thanks to my remarkable and supportive reviewers: thedoctorsgirl42, RaFire, RoxyMoron, juju0268, The Prince's Phoenix, Wondermorena, karolprado, emospritelet, spacecats, cheesyteal'c, cynicsquest, MyraValhallah, Erik'sTrueAngel, OneMagician, deweymay, LynRward, jewel415, Chauchi, Grace5231973, Robin4, VinterNatt, and Aletta-Feather**

**Anne Andrews (Guest): thx, Gold is indeed meant to be a total badass in this story**

**Kat(Guest): thx, glad you're enjoying this story**

_NEXT: All the tenants gather together for a Sunday lunch and are joined by the mysterious tutor (Marilyn) that Gold has called in_

_And Belle has a fun (interesting) evening with Ruby, Emma and Mary Margaret_


	9. A Quiet Sunday

**SMOKE AND ASHES**

_After an unexpected attack, Gold has sought the insights and opinions of Miss Belle and agrees with her perceptions that his people struggle to fight as a team and, as long as they cannot combine their resources, they are weak and vulnerable._

_He also considered his own weaknesses: silver and Fae blood. He also recalled a very old spell, one that could make him the most powerful magic user in the world, a spell that once took away magic, but is now scattered over five scrolls and five pieces of a spell-blade. One of the scrolls and one piece of the knife is lost, rendering the spell unworkable. _

**A Quiet Sunday**

**Chapter 9**

_+ + + Sunday Morning _

When he came down stairs the next morning he sensed someone was in his shop. He was cautious. It didn't feel like an enemy. It felt . . . familiar. It felt like sweetness and light.

When he opened the door he saw _her_. She had on a blue skirt and a pretty pink top. She had left her hair hanging down _like a chestnut waterfall _and put on her lipstick. She was twirling around in his shop as if she was listening to music. As he stood still, watching her, he realized that she was oblivious to his presence. And she was singing, her voice soft and pleasant.

Despite all that had happened to her _whatever it may have been _this woman seemed remarkably happy. _He wondered what that felt like. _

For the first time she had beat him to the shop. When she turned around she caught sight of him and beamed.

"Miss Belle, you look lovely," he told her. _She did. _"Sorry I was a bit late. I had to check in with one of the other tenants." _To get one of his (ugh) hairs, an iron nail, and a silver ring. He'd start with these things for his first attempt at constructing an amulet for his pretty maid._

"We need to walk over to get my car from the Rankin garage and we'll drive out to the Sunny Point Café on Haywood Road for breakfast. It's a short trip but worth it."

He led her over to his black El Dorado Cadillac in its usual reserved spot. Belle did not make any comments regarding it being "an old man's car." Maybe, next time, he'd take her out in the Spider.

Belle sat quietly on the leather seat in the spacious, soundless vehicle. Gold put on some light jazz. Belle looked around. The car was pristine. It was comparable to any of the vehicles in her father's fleet. She found it nice to be able to sit in the front seat instead of behind the driver.

"Was there anywhere else you wanted to go today?" he asked her.

"Only if it isn't too much trouble. I have a short list of things I need that I didn't get on my last shopping trip," Belle was hesitant. She didn't want to impose.

"No problem," he assured her.

Belle rode without chattering, looking out the window at the scenery but most often looking at the man driving the car. He was not handsome in a classic sense, but nonetheless she thought he was very attractive. His brown eyes reminded her of rich coffee with caramel swirled into its depths. His hair, often unkempt, was brown with emerging grey streaks and it had been grown out unfashionably long. She wondered if it would feel as soft and as silky as it looked. Right now he was clean shaven and his jaw and cheeks were smooth, but she knew by the evening he would have brown-grey stubble covering his face. She was particularly drawn to his hands, with their long fingers. She sensed power in those fingers, expertise and talent _and she remembered well the sensations a single finger had evoked when he had drawn it across her lips._

Gold seemed entirely focused on his driving, and was apparently unaware of her scrutiny.

In actuality he was hyperaware that she was looking at him. His previous liaisons had left him with few illusions regarding his attractiveness to the opposite sex. He was too short, not aggressively muscular enough, certainly not handsome. He was rough and uncouth, '_a peasant'_ _Cora had called him._ Despite her runaway status, Miss Belle seemed to be a lady, a refined, well-bred, well-educated young woman. _She could not possibly find him attractive. _

"Why did you have a falling out with your father?" he asked her. _Anything to get her attention off of himself and on to some other topic._

She looked away from him. "Jefferson told you?"

"He did," Gold confirmed.

Belle decided to respond with the truth, "There were several things but mostly it was because he wanted me to marry someone that I didn't want to marry."

"And that was enough to make you feel that you had to leave home?"

"Well, there was a lot of money and business dealings and such at stake and when I said, 'no,' it messed up everything. There was a lot of anger directed at me from my father and the other party. My father . . . he's not usually a difficult man and I truly believe that he loves and cares for me. But when I said 'no' I guess it put everything in an uproar. He was at the end of his rope and made some threats. I don't know that he would have ever kept to any of them, but I decided I didn't want to risk it. I renounced my. . . I gave up my inheritance and left with what I could gather up quickly."

"And at some point you began to run out of money?"

"Oh yes, did I ever," she laughed sadly. "Of course, I realized that I couldn't use anything like a credit card. My father had people looking for me and they would have tracked me with that. I had to travel by bus, on foot, hitching rides and eventually I landed in Asheville. I decided I could blend in here and survive. I was doing all right, but the winter has been pretty tough. I'd been hoping I could get a job, but I couldn't use my real name so nobody could hire me." _She wasn't prepared to tell him about the bad dreams, the withdrawal from all the medications that had made things worse, the terrifying sense of being watched, pursued, stalked._

"So my cash arrangement works well for you, then?"

"It's perfect."

"And so there are people actively looking for you?" he asked to confirm.

She didn't answer immediately. Her answer, when it came, was very low, "There are."

He pulled into the restaurant and they waited for a table. Gold noticed the other men in the place looking at Belle, then at him. He figured they thought she was his daughter or he was a rich man who could afford a young wife or, more likely, a young mistress. He put his hand on the small of her back in an intimate gesture. There was a perverse side of him that wanted the other men to know that she was not his daughter.

He got what he always got, the Smoked Sunburst Trout Omelet. Belle opted for the Summer Garden Omelet. He got tea. She got coffee.

He reached for her hand during the meal and held it. "I want you to know that I am really enjoying your company. I don't always relate well to other people and . . . I guess, I've been a bit lonely. I didn't realize it until you started working for me," he confessed, watching her closely to see how she would accept his gratitude.

Belle blushed. "I enjoy my time with you also. Ruby said you only went out with tenants to grill them over the progress of their training." She then added mischieviously, "And Emma said you had put me under a spell."

"A spell?!" he was amused. "I'll admit the thought is tempting," his eyes locked with hers, "but there has been no spell. And Ruby is right, I don't go out with tenants except to 'grill them.' You have been . . . an exception."

"Have I?" She had not moved her hand. "I think I've been lonely too. But . . . even if I had not been so, I would still enjoy my time with you."

The two continued looking deep into each other's eyes, warm brown eyes and soft cerulean blue. Age differences, money differences, class differences, all falling away.

_What was wrong with her? She had known this man less than a week and he was clearly a complex, convoluted, dangerous man, a man from whom she would be better off keeping some distance. But, here she was considering crawling over the table top and settling herself into the man's lap. She would then want to wrap her arms around him, and kiss him, starting with the sexy hollow at the base of his neck and working her way back up to his mouth. But she just wasn't sure that any such crudely overt physical advances would be welcomed. _

_And the restaurant was hardly the time and place. _

The waitress came with the check breaking the moment and Gold released his hold on Belle's hand.

Gold paid but struggled to keep his mind on figuring the tip.

_What was wrong with him? He hadn't known this woman a week and what he did know about her should be making him run in the other direction, but instead. . . . instead he wanted to drag her over the table top and pull her into his lap so that he could inhale her sweet fragrance and kiss her forehead and her cheek and her perfect pouty lips_. . . _then work his way down her neck. He wondered if she would make soft little cries as she became aroused. He wondered if she would be soft and pliable or would she resist and require gentle coaxing. _He sighed._ He doubted crudely overt physical advances would be welcomed. _

_And the restaurant was hardly the time and place. _

On the drive back Gold shared that usually the tenants would all get together Sunday afternoon and have a buffet lunch on the roof. With magical shielding, weather was never a concern. He was inviting her to join them but caught a panicked look on her face.

"I don't have anything to bring!"

"Well, everyone knows you're just starting out and you won't be expected to bring anything. There's always plenty of food."

_Spoken ilike a man. _"Can we please stop at something like a Dollar General and then run into a grocery store?" she asked him.

"Of course," and he navigated to the nearest discount store, a Big Lots.

Belle was able to get herself some paper pads and a few ink pens (to make her lists), a couple of hot pads, some hangers, an inexpensive coffee maker, a large glass bowl and a little am/fm radio. She insisted on paying for the items herself, telling him that he had done quite enough for her already. Gold then stopped at a Publix grocery store and Belle went into the deli and bought some potato salad. Then she got a can of paprika. She also picked up a bag of their cheapest coffee. He watched but didn't say anything.

He helped her carry her purchases from the parking lot back to the apartment building and walked her up to her door. He waited for her to open the door and then followed her down the hall into her little kitchen.

He looked around the apartment. "You've done a nice job with getting things arranged," he complimented her.

"Thanks. It's all your stuff," Belle told him as she put things away.

"You will be coming up at one o'clock for the buffet?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she replied.

They stood awkwardly in her little kitchen, the small quarters pressing them in together.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Belle spoke nervously. "I have uh. . . water. . . tea. . . and some orange juice, oh, and now I can make coffee."

"I'm fine, thank you," he told her standing close to her. _He liked standing close to her._

"Oh yes, I almost forgot. I owe you a meal. Maybe next Thursday?" she asked nervously. _That should give her time to find something she could cook and find someone who would take her to a grocery store. _

"Thursday would be lovely," he answered her, still standing in her kitchen.

Belle felt overwhelmed with the nearness of his presence, his intense masculine aura filling the little space. She was acutely aware of his body heat, his slightly spicy aftershave _if he was wearing aftershave_. She wasn't sure if she was hot or cold.

She was never more aware that she was a virgin.

An inexperienced, sheltered, socially awkward virgin.

_Gold was enjoying himself, breathing in her fresh scent, her bright smile and pleasant demeanor. She was like a light in an ocean of darkness. She seemed shy and a little unsure of herself which, after dealing with hyper-aggressive women, was entirely refreshing. _

_He kept having to remind himself of his rule: Never, ever get involved with one of his protégés. _

_It was getting harder and harder to remember that rule._

He somehow managed to get himself out of her apartment.

_+ + + Sunday Afternoon_

At five 'til one, Belle had carefully emptied the plastic carton of potato salad into her new glass bowl and sprinkled it lightly with paprika. Satisfied with her offering, she carried it up the three flights of stairs to the roof. Ruby was already there and waved at her. Someone had set up a long table and scattered foldup chairs around. Belle set her potato salad on the 'salad end' of the table. She could see there was already a marinated caprese salad at the same end as were some paper plates, napkins and plastic cutlery. There were a variety of sandwiches, cheese plates, fruit plates and something that looked like chili in a crockpot spaced out on the table.

"I see you didn't get your things together and flee this chicken outfit after the other evening," Ruby said to her coming over.

Belle gave her a weak smile. "Gold had a long talk with me afterwards," Belle told her.

"And even after that you still stayed," Ruby's eyes went wide in mock horror. "Oh, let me introduce you to some of the other denizens of the building." Ruby grabbed her hand and introduced Belle to a handsome couple. "This is David and Mary Margaret. He works in the police department and, sometimes, in the Mayor's office, and Mary Margaret who's a teacher. Folks, this is . . . all right here, wait a moment. I heard you were Lacey, but Gold was calling you Belle. She's our new member."

"I'm Belle. Lacey was my _nom de voyage_, the name I use until I'm sure about people and stuff," explained Belle.

No one in the group seemed to have any difficulties grasping why she might have felt the need to use a phony name. "You're in Graham's apartment?" asked David.

"Yeah, she's in 2A," Ruby confirmed.

"Graham?" Belle asked.

"The really nice guy who lived in your apartment before you. He worked in the police department and . . . ," Ruby hesitated. "He died on duty. They said he was hit by a car. There was massive internal bleeding and it looked like he'd had a heart attack," she explained in a whisper. "Gold thinks it was a magical hit."

"Oh," said Belle. She might have commented more but a tall, dark and handsome fellow came up just then. Belle recognized him as the fellow who'd been on the rooftop stabbing at the shadows during the attack.

Ruby introduced him as Killian Jones who lived on the third floor, the same as Jefferson, who also came up shortly thereafter. Then came the short, sturdy, balding man, older than the others she had met; she had seen him come through the lobby and give Gold a thumbs up. This was Leroy. Belle also recognized the shy young man with red hair who came up. This time she got his name, Archie.

She also got to meet Milah, the same woman she had seen throwing lightning bolts during the _dubharim_ attack. The woman glared at her. _So this_ _was Milah! Belle thought she was gorgeous with long lustrous black hair. And she was more at ease with her body than Belle felt she could ever be. Belle knew she would never have felt comfortable wearing such revealing garments, in this instance, jeggings, a tube top and sky-high spike heels. _

Emma and Ashley came in and greeted her enthusiastically. Then came Regina, the woman who'd called Gold a 'dick,' a stunning brunette, and, especially given that this was a casual outing, she was dressed to the nines, in a high end short-skirted suit, with patterned pantyhose and shiny heeled pumps. Gold came up last and his arrival signaled everyone to start the buffet line. Belle was pressured to go first since she was 'the new one.'

"I heard you were an Empath," said Milah coming up behind her. "What do you do with tha-at?" the woman didn't sound genuinely friendly, more genuinely snotty.

"Mr. Gold and I are working to try to get a sense of what I can offer the group," Belle responded as sweetly (and as honestly) as she could manage. Despite her cheap attire, Milah reminded Belle of so many of the society women that she knew from her father's sphere; money and family connections were all important and they looked down on people who didn't have both. "He's going to be working with me tonight," she added _knowing from Ruby's and Emma's gossip that Milah was the one who was hot for Gold and hadn't been able to make any headway._

"Really, you got a private lesson?" Milah obviously was getting her back up.

"He suggested it," Belle replied and was then 'distracted' by something Mary Margaret had said.

Milah might have followed her, but the group was interrupted by the arrival of a stranger, a lovely young woman with honey-blond hair and green eyes. Gold immediately went to her, "Marilyn, so glad you could come."

Gold held out his hands to Marilyn and she nodded in greeting to him, taking his hands in return. They didn't hug but did give each other small smiles.

"I want you to meet my protégés," Gold turned to the larger group and introduced Marilyn to the individuals. "And," when he came to Milah, "this is the young woman I want you to work with. She has a lot of talent but we are having trouble harnessing it. I thought you would be the ideal tutor for her."

"Of course, weather phenome is one of my specialties." Marilyn's eyes quickly went to Belle. She lowered her voice, "Tell me about this one," she said to Gold.

"Ah, I will talk with you later about her. She is quite new with us and we are still helping her find her place."

Marilyn gave Belle a genuine smile and then went off to get herself some food. Jefferson, Jones, Archie and Leroy were all right there helping her pick out some food.

The women stood back looking the newcomer over. "And just who is she?" asked Regina.

"Someone that Gold called in to help Milah," Mary Margaret told them.

Regina snorted, "Milah, that's what you get for trying so hard to get Gold into your drawers. If you hadn't acted such a road whore, he might have been the one working with you."

"Yeah, I've seen how much work he puts in with you," Milah retorted.

"More than enough," Regina sniped back. "He's not the joy to work with that you apparently think he is. The man's impossible to please, constantly criticizes, and he'll pop you with a fireball if he thinks you aren't working hard enough."

"He's never popped me," Milah said smugly.

"He's never spent any time with you," Regina set out to quell Milah. "Your skills are barely above that of a kitchen witch. I've never been sure why The House let you in."

"Well maybe I'm not a master of any Element, but I can make it rain on you and melt your ass."

"You're thinking of my sister, you stupid little cunt," Regina bit out.

Milah immediately (and understandably) got pissed, "You're calling me a cunt!? After what I heard about you and Graham and all the kinky stuff you two were into? Handcuffs? Really? And then I heard you went all vanilla and tried to get David Nolen but he stuck by Mary Margaret."

Belle had watched the interchange. A lot of insecurities and low self-esteem. Both of them. She shook her head. _However will Gold ever manage to make them work together?_

Belle stood apart watching the group, watching Gold. He moved smoothly from small group to small group, from individual to individual. They all responded to him, the men stood straighter, the women preened when he talked to them. Belle's sharp eyes caught that he moved in a pattern, was he weaving a spell, somehow binding them together? Everyone seemed to relax as he chatted with them and their feelings remained calm and collected after he stepped away.

Belle also watched the newcomer, Marilyn, was her name? She was lovely, fresh, wholesome, yet also managed to be seductive and sultry _and_ _Belle had felt intense tingling without ever having any physical contact with the woman_. Belle saw that Marilyn too was watching everyone, including Gold.

He took a moment, after everyone had served themselves, to address the group.

"I am alarmed," he began solemnly. "Although many of you are most talented, you need to work together. Instead of practicing alone, I want us to begin practicing together. Every Tuesday night, every Thursday night, we are to get together and I will set groups against each other. If we can't learn to rely on each others' strengths, if we can't learn to work together, we'll go under. We won't have a chance."

There was some grumbling, but those who had participated in the recent ill-fated defense nodded, if reluctantly, in agreement.

The afternoon went forward and by three o'clock, people were heading back downstairs. Gold let them know that he planned to be involved in the new training sessions and would, sometimes, have them sparring with himself. He then pulled Marilyn and Milah together and had a quiet chat with them. Ruby and Emma caught up with Belle and pulled in Mary Margaret.

Ruby whispered to Belle, "We wanted you to have a chance to connect with Mary Margaret."

They went down to Mary Margaret's apartment. It was a larger apartment than Belle's, Mary Margaret explained that when she and David had gotten married The House connected their apartments. The group initially settled in her kitchen, a study in whitewash and blue gingham, very homey, complete with homemade oatmeal-raisin cookies on the countertop.

Mary Margaret shared that her day job was a fourth grade teacher. She seemed to be sweet and perky but Belle could sense an underlying steel to the woman.

Emma and Belle went on into the living room while Mary Margaret and Ruby remained into her kitchen to fix a pitcher of tea for everyone. Emma shared that the teacher's talent was, among other things, a bit of precognition. This made her an awesome fighter as she knew what direction the enemy was going to feint or pull towards. Mary Margaret, carrying the pitcher and some glasses and returning to the group, shared that it also made her a dynamite disciplinarian as she could anticipate misbehavior from her students before they were able to make a move. Ruby followed with two trays of nosh food, cookies, peanuts, cheese crackers, dips, chips and more.

Mary Margaret shared her story with Belle. She had been hit with a bogus charge of theft and had lost her livelihood and her home and was out on the streets. She was pretty desperate when she wandered into Gold's shop. He had first gotten her a job as an aide in a private preschool and then did some choice legal work to get her teaching certificate reinstated. She'd been able to move into a full-time teaching position again.

"Mr. Gold does legal work?" Belle asked.

"Uh huh, he's a licensed attorney," Mary Margaret told her.

Emma took a chip and popped it into her mouth, "Fits, don't it?"

"I guess," agreed Belle.

Emma let Belle know that Mary Margaret was an expert with a pistol and a fencing blade. Mary Margaret corrected her, "That's an epee. You got a gun, honey?" she asked Belle.

"No," Belle answered wondering where this was going.

"Well, I know we're fighting all these spooks and all, but I'm telling you, it's a smart girl who packs a little heat of her own. You and me, we'll go out Monday afternoon and I'll get you set up. Leroy makes our bullets. They're a special metal combination: iron for anything of the Light that attacks you and silver for the Dark," she explained. "Vorpal bullets," she added.

_What kind of bullets? thought Belle._

"She's done this for all the tenants of the building," Ruby explained. "Gold prefers that we all at least possess a weapon."

"Well, I don't know. A gun. . . ?" Belle began.

"What?! They're legal. I'll find you a nice pink one," Mary Margaret told her. "Just because you have magic, it doesn't hurt to have backup. You got any background with self-defense, hand-to-hand, krav maga?"

Belle debated. She'd always answered that question with a "no," but in reality her father's secret service had made sure that she had better than average self-defense skills. "A little," she answered Mary Margaret.

"Great. We get together every Wednesday evening and have a class. Gold is going to get us to continue with this class even though we have all the other training. We'll expect you at 8:00," and she gave Belle a pert smile.

Belle realized that part of Mary Margaret's talent was in anticipating people's arguments, people's questions, and responding to them before they were stated. She was very strong, organized and a natural leader.

"Wear something comfortable," Emma told Belle.

"Now what happened up on the rooftop that got Gold's panties in a wad?" Mary Margaret asked the other women.

"Well momma, we just got our butts kicked," Emma told her. "There were so many of those little boogeymen, they just overwhelmed us."

"And then Gold came out with a flashbomb and cleared the whole area. Emma, why can't you or Regina or Ashley do a flashbomb?" Ruby asked.

"Not strong enough," Emma explained. "It was Belle's idea that we should learn to work as teams, instead of individuals."

"Well," Mary Margaret considered. "That does make sense."

"Except when it's going to take up every spare minute of our limited free time," Ruby said.

"I'm sorry," Belle told her.

"Don't let them make you feel guilty. Gold would've had the idea on his own," Mary Margaret reassured her.

Ruby sighed, "You're right, Mary Margaret. Belle, I know it's not your fault."

"We all know it. We really do need to get better," Emma agreed.

"Now," began Mary Margaret. "Is there anything you need?" she asked Belle kindly.

"Oh, I need to find out when any of you go grocery shopping. I have an . . . uh . . . appointment with Mr. Gold on Thursday night. I promised him I'd make supper for him."

The other three women gaped at Belle then at each other.

"Get out!" Ruby nearly shouted.

"You are going to have Gold over for a supper date!"

Belle was alarmed with how her pronouncement had been received.

"You realize that nobody, nobody, has ever had Gold over for a supper date?" Mary Margaret asked her.

"No, it's not a date," Belle tried to clarify her relationship. She was not sure what was going on.

"Belle," Emma began, "Gold never, ever, ever goes to anyone's apartment for supper. He has this rule, no dating the tenants! Ever, ever, ever."

"This isn't a date! He's just been taking me out to eat for breakfast and I told him I wasn't comfortable with him paying for all my meals, so he suggested that once I got paid, that I fix him a meal. I told him that I'd make him supper and he. . . he. . . agreed to come to my apartment."

"And you're going to breakfast with him, like every day?! And you're telling yourself those are not dates? Wow, next thing, he'll be having you _into_ his place," Mary Margaret said. "Nobody, except Milah who snuck in and got escorted out PDQ, has ever been inside that man's apartment. It's like it's some kind of sacred domain."

Belle, unable to help herself, dropped her eyes.

Emma caught Belle's expression, "You've been inside his apartment, haven't you?"

Belle nodded, "Last night after the attack, he took me into his place."

All three women moved in. "Why?" "What did his place look like?" "Did he put any moves on you?"

She attempted to answer each question, "He wanted to talk about the attack and my role in the group," for the first question, then, "He has a lot of nice antiques. It's very classy and elegant," and finally the last one, "And no." There had been that erotic touch of his finger slowly tracing her lips which had aroused her beyond anything else she had ever experienced. But it wasn't like he'd tried to kiss her or feel her up.

"Belle, he's got feelings for you," Emma told her. "I've never known him to treat anyone like he's treating you."

"Should I be worried?" Belle asked trying to turn it all into a joke. _She'd had three glasses of Mary Margaret's tea and was feeling decidedly woozy. _

The other three women got quiet. "Maybe," Mary Margaret finally responded. "Belle, he's a difficult man. Not like any other man anywhere else. He has powers that we can't begin to fathom. Nobody knows how old he is. And he has a bad history, something very dark and dangerous sometimes seems to take hold of him. One story is that he sold his soul to the devil, another that he found some ancient cursed artifact and it possessed him, another that he was the lover of some powerful magical creature, crossed her and she cursed him."

Belle hesitated but opted to share, "He told me that he was born the way he is."

"Maybe so, but he's so much more powerful than any human we've got any records on. The Fae, the fairy people that we fight alongside, don't trust him whatsoever," Mary Margaret looked at the other women before she continued, "We think they were so afraid of him that they decided that . . . that they needed to contain his talents and, somehow, . . .they imprisoned him. For a long time, a long, long time."

Belle realized that this was likely 'the bad place' Gold had told her he had been in. "Did he escape? What happened?"

"We think they eventually made an agreement with him. As long as he fights their enemies, they allow him freedom. They put him here to hold the dark powers at bay."

Belle thought this over. "So he's being . . . extorted? I mean he's free as long as he dances to their tune?"

"Pretty much," Emma answered. "I know he's working for the good guys but it is under duress. Makes you kinda wonder what he'd be like if he got off his leash."

Mary Margaret shook her head, "Oh, I don't know that we'd want to know."

Belle was left musing while she and the women continued gnoshing the snack foods and discussing different issues. They were all very relaxed and talkative. Belle gathered that Mary Margaret and David had actually managed to get married after a tempestuous romance. She'd discovered that Graham had dated Regina and then threw her over for Emma _that might explain some of Regina's animosity for Emma._ Regina was now seeing one of the lead detectives, Robert Locksley, a nice fellow that Emma and David worked with. Ruby had dated just about everybody _except Gold_.

Belle happened to glance at the time. "Oh my stars!" she said. "It's 7:55!" _The time had totally gotten away from her._

"So what, you turn back into a pumpkin or something?" Ruby asked.

"Yeah, you got to get home before the clock strikes eight or you'll change back into . . . whatever you were before?" Emma asked.

"Yes, no, I mean I have to go up to the roof. I have an appointment with Mr. Gold."

"Oooooo," said Ruby. "A date with Mr. G."

"Not a date, an _appointment_. He says I don't know how to shield myself and I've got to learn."

The women all sobered. "Really? You can't shield?"

Emma looked at her, puzzled. Emma could _see_ Belle's shields and she looked fine, better than fine. In fact, Emma thought that Belle had some pretty remarkable shields. She was not sure what exactly Gold had seen in the young woman's aura. _Well, it was his ballgame – or whatever other game he was playing. She wasn't going to intervene until and unless she thought he was hurting Belle._

Ruby and Mary Margaret remained concerned. "Oh, Belle. You need to go. You have to have shields." And they stood to help send her off.

Belle climbed the stairs. She felt unusually dizzy, but very, very relaxed. That was nice tea that Mary Margaret had served everybody.

**A.N. Hoping I haven't been too esoteric Disney in naming Marilyn's character. If you don't know who she is, you'll eventually be able to figure it out. **

**Thanks (as always) to my very helpful, wonderful reviewers: Tinuviel Undomiel, Robin4, RoxyMoron, the doctorsgirl42, cynicsquest, orthankg1, RaFire, Aletta-Feather, Wondermorena, karolprado, Tee-Cup, deweymay, Chauchi, juju0268, Grace5231973, OneMagician, spacecats, MyraValhallah, mockorangeflower, emospritelet, Erik'sTrueAngel, LynRward**

**Guest (married) I hadn't addressed this detail in my preliminary notes, but I had put their apartments adjacent to each other; I like the idea of them being married (it's less sleezy), thx for the nod/idea**

**Anne Andrews (Guest): thx, we're still a ways from finding out all that Belle can do, but physical contact between Belle and Gold will occur in the next chapter.**

_NEXT: Belle and Gold share a kiss (finally)_

_They share some odd experiences when they tap each other's shields_


	10. Shields Down

SMOKE AND ASHES

_Belle and Mr. Gold have shared a pleasant breakfast and confessed to each other that their developing relationship alleviates their mutual feelings of loneliness. _

_At a Sunday afternoon get-together, an attractive young woman who is to work with Milah has been introduced to the group. Gold has told his tenants that they need to begin sparring in groups so they can learn to work together. _

_Belle has spent the rest of the day with Emma, Ruby and another tenant, Mary Margaret, and has learned that her kindly Mr. Gold is seen by the others as reclusive and dangerous. She leaves the group to work with him on her shielding which he has seen as lacking._

**Chapter 10**

**Shields Down**

Belle had managed to stand. She swayed a moment. She was dizzy and felt a little loopy. She thanked Mary Margaret for the tea and the snacks and then found her way out of the apartment. She went on up the stairs to the roof. She had to lean on the banister to keep her balance.

"Mr. Go-old," she called out as she came out onto the roof. "Mr. Gooo-old."

"Well, my dear, on time, I see," he said stepping out from the shadows.

"How did you do that?" Belle asked him. "I was standing here and I looked for you and then . . . Poof! there you are. How did you do that?"

"I was here all along, Miss Belle. You just didn't see me."

"Nu-uh," she told him, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Miss Belle, are you all right?" he asked. She didn't sound like herself.

"I'm fine. Fit as a fiddle. Sharp as a tack," she told him and then blinked and swayed.

"Miss Belle, have you been drinking?"

"Just some tea that Mary Margaret gave me. I drank a lot of tea," she told him, giggling. "It tasted funny," she added.

"No doubt it did." He shook his head. He recalled seeing Belle go off with Mary Margaret, Ruby and Emma, and was thinking about just what kind of tea those three witches might have poured into this innocent _possibly under-aged_ child. "Well you're in no condition tonight for a lesson. It'll have to wait."

"You're not gonna teach me stuff?" she asked, her face mirroring her disappointment.

"I think you're three sheets to the wind. No, I'm not going to teach you anything. Not tonight."

"Oh," she sighed, clearly disappointed, and just stood in the center of the roof.

"Why don't I escort you down to your apartment?" he asked and offered her his arm.

"You're a nice man," she told him, taking his arm, stumbling and righting herself, then allowing him to lead her down the stairs.

"No I'm not, but it's nice to know you think so," he told her.

Halfway down the stairs, Belle started giggling.

"Is there a joke you can let me in on?" he asked her.

"They said that you ha' feelings fo' me and that we needed to get you offa your leash," Belle told him, slightly slurring her words. She dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Gold didn't respond. Did he have feelings for the girl? He would have said no, that she was just his latest protégé and he was having to spend time with her, learning about her unique talents.

He would have said no.

He kept telling himself no.

He didn't have feelings for her.

He didn't.

Did he?

Well, he certainly liked her. He enjoyed her company, her joie de vie, her deep insights into others.

_But just what the hell had they meant about getting him off of his leash? His leash?_

They had arrived at her door.

Belle had put her hand into a pocket and managed to fish out her key. She struggled to get it into the key hole and finally his hand folded over hers.

"Let me help you with that," he offered and overlaid her hand with his, steadying her shaky coordination. Together they were able to unlock the door. It swung open. Belle straightened up. He had put his hand on her shoulder to guide her into the apartment but before they could move, she lurched into him. He was almost thrown off balance, but somehow he was able to catch her and himself and stay upright. Her face was buried in his jacket.

For a long time she didn't stir and he was momentarily afraid that she had passed out on him.

Then her head came up, "You smell good," she told him and abruptly she stood on her toes and kissed him in the hollow of his neck. It wasn't much of a kiss, just her lips pressed together, making contact on his neck just above the point his necktie began. She pulled back and then kissed him again a little higher up on his neck . . . then she kissed his chin . . . then she kissed his mouth. He was standing absolutely still when her lips made contact with his, pressing against them for the tiniest moment.

_A tiny, perfect moment that he wanted to freeze in time so that he could enjoy it forever._

But then she pulled back. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have! It was just that you smell so good and I. . . and I. . ." She was about to turn away.

"Belle," he stopped her from turning away, lifted her face to his and this time it was he who gently pressed his lips to hers. He felt her body relax in his arms and with little effort on his part, he was able to nudge her mouth open.

_He wanted to kiss her longer, more thoroughly, but they were standing in the hallway and anyone might see them. And he couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't risk that anyone else might find out that there was something, anything at all between him and the little half-fae Empath. _

Reluctantly he pulled back. Belle's head went back and he had to support her, help her stay in an upright position. He guided her into her apartment and shut the door behind them.

He couldn't stop himself.

He drew her back into his arms and pushed her against the back of the door and for the third time that evening, they shared a kiss. This time it was a real kiss, a harsh kiss, a long-denied joining. He held her still so that he could ravage her mouth.

He felt Belle's hesitation, how she opened her mouth to his only as he pressed her. It was as if she was inexperienced and unsure of what to do and in the haze of his growing passion, he began to realize that she _was _inexperienced and unsure of what to do.

But for the moment, he didn't care. He poured himself, his bitter, angry self into her and allowed those feelings to be replaced with her optimism and her purity of spirit. It was an unhurried, sloppy kiss with the two trying to feel out what the other wanted.

Belle was intoxicated, not with the Questionable Content Tea that Mary Margaret had been sloshing into her, but with the all-consuming fire the man had ignited in her. She felt as if she was melting, dissolving into him. She was holding onto him, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing in the world.

_So this is what a real kiss felt like. It was hot and messy. When he wedged his leg between her legs so that she was riding on his thigh. . . when he used one of his hands to hold her head so that she couldn't evade his amorous attentions – even if she'd wanted to . . . when he pressed his body onto hers so that she felt deliciously crushed by his weight . . . it was nothing like she had ever imagined. _

_It was better, so much better than anything she'd imagined. _

With more effort than he cared to admit, he pulled away, "Belle, I want so much more than to kiss you and hold you, but . . . ."

She was clasping his arms, trying to stay standing. "I want what you want," she murmured.

He nearly smiled. "Perhaps, but you are drunk and I . . . I can't finish this. I shouldn't finish this. Maybe another time, when you are sober and . . . and I haven't swept you off your feet."

She dropped her head but held onto him. "Are you mad at me?" she asked in small voice.

"Oh, you sweet girl, no, no." _Now as for those three witches who got you drunk, that's another situation._ "But I won't take advantage of you in the state you're in." He helped her on into the living room, not trusting himself to lead her into the bedroom and make it out by himself. "I didn't think I was this honorable, but. . . I guess I am." This time he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest, I'll see you in the morning and we'll get breakfast." And with a supreme effort he released her and began to walk out the door.

"Thank you," he heard her call after him.

He nearly stopped. _What to say?_ He had turned back to look at her. "You're . . .you're welcome and . . . and thank you," he told her awkwardly, stammering like a school boy.

Once outside the door, he stopped and leaned his head against the wall.

_What had just nearly happened? He had almost broken one of his own rules – never have sex with a tenant. If the girl had been sober, he would have likely been in her bedroom with her at this moment, stripping her off, revealing every soft curve of that delightful, desirable little body. _

_No, no. If he was going to bed the girl, this girl, this young woman, he wanted to do it right – candlelight dinner, soft music, an even softer bed. But, of course, he would do no such thing, he told himself. And he began counting the reasons why he could not, would not touch her again. _

Belle had stood a moment in her living room.

_What had just nearly happened? She had been ready, ready, more than ready to give it up for this man, ready to go to bed with him, drunk as she was. If he hadn't stopped, they would likely have been in her bedroom right now with each of them pulling the clothes off the other – or right here on the living room floor. _

_When had her gratitude turned to passion? _

She was too tipsy to change clothes. She managed to make it into her bedroom, just fell into her bed and went out.

+ + + _The Morning After__  
_

Gold stood before _her_ door. Belle's door. He had said he would see her this morning but . . . after last night's unusual interlude with her kissing him and him kissing her, he wasn't sure exactly how things stood between them.

He'd spent a miserable . . . and uncomfortable . . . night . . . remembering a soft, yielding body, a sweet, tender mouth opening to his . . . her clinging to him when he'd pulled back. _And he'd walked away from all that she was offering? When had he turned into a gentleman? _

She had been really drunk last night. Hell, she probably didn't remember what had happened. And being drunk, she certainly hadn't meant for what had happened between them to happen.

But it had been so nice. It had been so long since he had held a willing woman in his arms.

But the last time it had been disastrous, he sternly reminded himself. What he had thought was willingness was a cold, calculated attempt to steal his knowledge.

This young woman, she could be cut from the same cloth as Cora. Cora had seemed so innocent and sweet when he first met her. She had played the game so well. This woman could be doing the same thing. And another thing, Belle was half-fae. She could have been sent by Those Bitches. She could have sent to spy on him, to seduce him, to steal his powers.

He needed to guard his heart, guard his powers, guard his knowledge.

But even with all of his reservations, even so, he still found himself wanting to spend time with her. Today was his day off. He usually reserved it for picking up a few grocery items, balancing his checkbook, getting his dry cleaning ready for pickup, and other such mundane tasks. But today he wanted to change his usual routine and spend time with her.

But did she want to spend time with him? Did she want to have anything to do with him?

He had raised his hand to knock and then dropped it several times.

_Get a grip on yourself, man. You're an older, experienced man and she's just a young thing. You've got the edge on her for money, power, everything. Why should you be acting as if you're . . . afraid of her? _

_Because you know a sweet young thing such as Belle would not really want to spend any time with a dusty old relic like yourself. She was drunk when she kissed you and she just gave you a chaste little peck. You were the Neanderthal that grabbed her and slammed her against the wall so that you could snog her breathless._

He was debating moving on when the door opened and Belle was standing there. She was dressed in her yellow skirt with a white top and her hair had been left loose, combed into lustrous bronze curls. Her face brightened up and without hesitation she threw her arms around him. Then, blushing, she stepped back from him. He considered grabbing her but realized she was talking and stopped himself.

"I wasn't sure how you felt about what happened. . . last night. I know I was drunk but I . . . I still liked it and . . . and. . . I enjoyed it. But I was afraid you were just being nice. . . and I didn't know if we were going to have breakfast together and I. . . " she stopped, fumbling for words, blushing profusely.

"I wasn't sure how you felt," he confessed. "Do you. . . do you want to have breakfast with me?"

Belle grinned and catching him by his tie, she pulled him into her apartment.

"Sit down. I'm not a very good cook, but I think I can scramble an egg and make some toast, and I have this little coffee maker I haven't had a chance to use."

"Breakfast here?" he asked. "If it's not too much trouble?"

"It's not too much trouble," she assured him. "But I don't know how good it will be. You seem to be used to some really posh breakfasts with trout or salmon or poached eggs or other stuff I don't have or can't make." He watched her a moment as she got out a frying pan.

"Let me help, please," he told her and took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Belle stopped a moment, catching her breath in her throat. This was the first time she had seen the man without one of his high-end Armani jackets and she thought he looked exceptionally fine in his vest and dark shirt. _She was probably looking at a hand-tailored silk shirt. It certainly fit him well enough. . . and it probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. _She forced her attention back to her cooking which given her limited skills did require all of her attention.

Gold had quickly seen that Belle was a novice cook and, after rolling up his shirt sleeves, he took over the scrambling of the eggs for her, melting butter in a pan and beating up the eggs in a cup before putting them in to cook. She buttered four pieces of bread and set them on the rack in the oven and then cautiously, Belle began making them coffee, one cup at a time.

"Oh, I forgot. I do have some tea," she told him.

"I'm fine with coffee, my dear," he assured her.

The toast was only slightly burnt and the coffee almost acceptable. The eggs were excellent. The two ate from mis-matched plates on the small table that Belle had spruced up with one of the linen cloths she had slept under her first night.

"This doesn't count for the meal I owe you, especially since you helped fix it," she told him from across the table with a friendly smile.

"I would have been satisfied to count it as such," he told her basking in her smile.

"You are so nice to me," she told him. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I think I've told you about this house and the mission and what we've been charged with doing," he hedged.

"A little. You, know, last night," she began slowly, "I was with Mary Margaret, Emma and Ruby."

"They got you drunk," he told her with just a touch of disapproval coming through.

"Well, I don't think they meant to," she didn't want to get her new friends in trouble with her boss. . . her landlord?

"Yes they did. They were trying to get information from you," he sat back. "About you."

"Well, I don't know about that. But they said that you had never invited anyone into your apartment. And they think that the breakfast thing we have together is kinda like you're dating me." She didn't look at him while this was pouring out. At the end of her speech, she managed a glance.

_Sounds like they were trying to get information about me, he thought wryly. _"I've never met an Empath before. I have a lot of professional curiosity about you. Plus," and here, Gold hesitated. "I think you were being pursued when you came here and I'm concerned about you leaving this house without some protection."

"Oh," she sat back in her chair. "So you're trying to find out more about me and you're concerned about my safety?"

"Exactly," he told her. _Yeah, that sounded good. _He sat back, "Now why don't we pick up on the lesson you missed last night?"

_Which lesson? she thought – the shield lesson or the kissing lesson? _She had wanted to ask him about the kissing. _Had he enjoyed it? been embarrassed by her inexperienced efforts? repulsed by her drunken self? _But she decided that perhaps now wasn't the time. "Can we do a lesson right after eating? Don't we have to wait an hour?"

He almost chuckled, "This isn't swimming," he told her. "Let's clean up and we'll go up to the roof."

He came into her tiny kitchen to help her with the dishes, drying while she washed up. He seemed very relaxed and at ease, comfortable as if this was the type of chore he did regularly. Belle found the close quarters with the man . . . well, it was stimulating. She felt herself heating up. She had a brief fantasy of throwing herself at him and begging him to make her a woman but she squelched it. He was just spending time with her because he was concerned about her safety. _But how could he just stand there drying the dishes, oozing. . . whatever it was he was oozing? _

Gold on his part, felt like he was sweating bullets. The woman with her lightness and sweetness, flitting around, cute little skirt and top swirling around skimming her pert little figure, bright eyes, smiling at him from time to time. He could feel his body start to respond.

_Get a grip on yourself man. She's just being nice. _

They got through the dishes and he unrolled his sleeves and put on his jacket again. "Let's go up to the rooftop," he suggested as he straightened his tie. "We'll be able to put in a little time with practice there."

As they came out onto the roof, Belle looked around. "Can't other people see us?" she asked him looking out on the town, up the hill at the auditorium and over at some of the taller buildings on the hills around them.

"They see a rooftop. We're protected," he waved his hands in a vague gesture. "There's a kind of a shield around us. People see what they expect to see."

"I'm . . . I'm kinda nervous . . .What are we going to do?" she asked him.

"I'm going to have you just stand over here. Now, I'm going to gently try to reach into your mind," he told her.

"What?! I don't like this! I don't think this is a good idea," she protested.

"You would prefer that shadow creature?" he asked.

Belle stood a moment. Her mouth had gone dry. _How embarrassing was this going to be? Would he pick out one of her little fevered fantasies with him as the featured guest? _

"I want you to keep me out," he told her kindly. "Some people imagine a wall. Some have a light. Some have a shield. Just get an image that works for you. Put it up. I won't go at you hard, I promise. Now, you got it?"

Belle took a deep breath and nodded.

"Now I'm going to come at you," and as gently as he could, he tried a tendril.

It brushed her face and curled around her, stroking her hair. She shivered. _This was nothing like the other night! _She had thought his forefinger tracing her lips had been erotic, but it had been nothing like this. She had thought their kiss that been arousing, but it had been nothing like this! She leaned her head back savoring the feather-light touch, enjoying the gentle movement of the tendril moving around her body.

Abruptly he pulled back. _What the hell? Her eyes had closed, her head was back and her mouth was opened. She was _. . . _panting? She looked more like a woman entering the throes of passion than a woman being attacked!_

"Belle," he called her name and pulled back. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes flickered opened. "Yes," her voice was husky.

"You're supposed to be resisting me," he reminded her.

"But it feels so good," she told him, smiling at him, her speech slurred and relaxed. "Why would I resist that?"

_It wasn't supposed to feel good?! _

He considered. "Let's try something else. Why don't you try to get into my head? That way you can see what a shield looks like and feels like." He added with a hint of a smirk, "I believe you've tried it before."

Belle managed to glance at him _no, he wasn't angry. _"You mean I should_ try_ to read your mind, read your feelings?" She had never really tried to do this before. She had brushed against people but never had she actually tried to get _inside_ of anyone. Before she had always just been the receptacle for the constancy of emotions that spilled out of people, flowing and ebbing around her. "What do I do?" she asked.

"Just focus on getting inside me. Tell me what I'm feeling," he directed her.

"All right," she turned her energies towards him. Immediately she was hit with a tsunami of darkness and a well of hot, deep seething anger. Spinning around and around. She felt as if she was falling. There was so much knowledge, many lifetimes of study and accrued esoteric facts and skills. Spinning. She kept falling. There was so much sadness, so many lost dreams and hopes, so many people who had come and gone. Around and around. She fell into the maelstrom.

Then she was in _a place_. It was dark and damp and there was so much pain, like sharp knives piercing and slicing the skin. And she felt sick, her body aching and her stomach cramping. Belle felt herself falling further down.

. . . .

"Belle, Belle," someone was holding her up.

"Is she all right?" she heard someone else ask.

"She's coming to. Belle?"

She fluttered her eyes open. She was lying on the roof with Gold supporting her. The woman who had come in yesterday, what was her name, Marilyn? She was standing over them.

"What were you doing?" Belle heard Marilyn ask Gold.

"I was trying to teach her how to shield herself," Gold explained.

Belle felt an odd touch wash over her.

"But her shields are just fine," Marilyn told him.

"No, they aren't. I cut through them like tissue paper," Gold protested.

The woman was silent a moment. "And do I gather that she just cut through yours . . . like you didn't have any?"

There was no immediate response. Belle finally heard a grunt of affirmation.

"Mr. Gold?" Belle asked resting, cradled in his arms. "Are you all right?"

He looked down at her. "Yes, I'm fine. But are you ok?"

She spoke slowly, "I . . . was . . . in a terrible place. There was . . . no light. It was damp and cold. And . . . I couldn't leave. And I was sick and in pain. What was that?"

_Damnation. She had gone deep into his mind. The Fae prison, the place they had kept him for so long. Belle had found it. She had gone right to it._

He helped her sit all the way up. "It was a long time ago, Belle," he told her softly.

"But they hurt you," she told him.

He looked and there were tears running down her face. _She was hurting . . . for him. Feeling his pain._

"It was a long time ago," he told her again and pulled her against his chest, holding her, rocking her in his arms. She sobbed softly.

"There was so much pain. You were left all alone," he heard her talking so quietly, "except when they wanted to torture you. To hurt you more."

"It was a long time ago," he managed to say it one more time, his voice breaking. No one had ever felt sorry for him. No one. Never.

Marilyn was watching the two. He glanced up at her. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Apparently you two can walk through each others shields as if they aren't even there," Marilyn summarized.

"No shit," Gold responded sharply. "Why? How?" He had never heard of this. _And no one, no one, absolutely no one had ever been able to break through his shields. Not Zosa who had taught him dark magics while all the while planning to steal his abilities. Not Mallie, his first student who had been predictably treacherous. N____ot the Fae when they had him bound and helpless. _Not Cora who had seduced him into complacency. No one. Never.

Marilyn shrugged, "Beats me. I've never heard of such a thing. Have anything to do with her being an Empath?"

"I don't think so. Unless shields are irrelevant to an Empath. Belle," he called her name again.

Sniffling, Belle managed to sit up still encased in the comforting cradle of his arms. She wiped the tears from her face and tried to put on some semblance of calmness. "Yes," she finally answered him.

"Good girl," he whispered so only she could hear. "Do you feel well enough to try something else?" he asked her.

"I . . . I guess," she told him.

"Marilyn, come over here," he called out to the other woman. "Marilyn, can you get through her shields?"

Belle braced herself. She could feel a little pressure but nothing like what she had felt with Gold, certainly nothing erotic.

Marilyn shook her head. "She's locked up. Pretty tight. Excellent quality shields, Gold. She's self-taught but those people often have the strongest shields. I would think that as an Empath she would have had to have learned to shield herself or go mad."

Gold nodded, "Well then, let's see if Belle can read you."

Marilyn obligingly came and knelt down by the two. She smiled at Belle.

"What am I feeling Belle?"

Belle looked at her. Then she closed her eyes and _looked _at the other woman. Like nothing she had seen before, not the raging turmoil of emotions she most often encountered, nor the mushy marshmallow casing she was occasionally met with. This woman had veils surrounding her, bright, colorful veils, muting her image, fogging her senses.

"You. . .you're very different," Belle finally said.

"I am," Marilyn agreed with her. "I'm thinking of someone. How do I feel about them?" the woman asked her.

Belle found that relaxing seemed to make it easier for her to read the feelings. She took a deep breath. It was a long moment before she answered, "He has dark hair and is quite a player. You like him but you don't know you can trust him, you can't trust how he feels about you. But there are too many differences." Something else came flooding through and Belle looked first at Marilyn, then at Gold, then back to Marilyn. "You were there. You saw what was happening. You spoke up. You. . . "

"That's enough," Marilyn interrupted her. She looked back at Gold. "Wow. She is actually able to see through my shields. You should try a number of others here and see if it's just you and me or if there's another pattern."

Gold nodded. "Thanks, appreciate your help here." He helped Belle stand back up.

"Please be honest. I will be able to tell," he said to her with a slight smile. "Do you feel up to any more today or do we need to break and come back another time."

Belle wanted to tell him that she was just fine, but she had been shaken to the core. She'd had a glimpse into the man's past, a dark, painful glimpse. _How had he survived without going mad? Who would have done this to him? What was Marilyn's relationship to him? _

She looked at him, his eyes filled with concern for her, even . . .guilt for having subjected her to some of his pain.

"I think we need to break for the day," she told him.

"It's fine, darling," he told her and he helped her stand. _As he stood holding her firm, young body, feeling her lean into him, he threw caution to the winds. It didn't matter how much he tried to deny it, how much he tried to pretend otherwise. _

_There was something between him and the little half-Fae._

_Screw his stupid rules._

Belle realized that he had called her _darling. _Not _my dear_ or _dearie_, but _darling._ She wondered if he was even aware of the slip.

"Let's get lunch. We've been working hard," he began to lead her toward the stairwell.

"Do we need to ask Marilyn?" she asked him.

He glanced over at the other woman. "I believe Marilyn has some other work to do." He nodded at the other woman and she smiled back at him.

"I'll report to you this evening." Marilyn waved them off.

Belle didn't say anything as they made their way down the stairs. They stopped on the second floor.

"Get your coat," he told Belle. "It's chilly out still."

Belle complied and walked with him down to the lobby. He went into the darkened shop and got his own coat.

They walked in silence, Belle following behind the pawnbroker.

"You don't think that you might have been rude to Miss Marilyn?" she finally ventured.

He stopped and looked at her. "Miss Marilyn is my employee. She does as I tell her."

"But . . . " Belle began.

"She has a job that I have asked her to do," he said, slowly and softly and they resumed walking.

"It just felt awkward," Belle told him. "Like you were dismissing her."

"I was dismissing her. I wanted to spend time with you . . .alone."

It was Belle's turn to stop. "Really?"

"Yes, Miss Belle." He stopped walking and turned back to her and put up his hands to hold her by the shoulders. He looked her in the eyes, "Has it not occurred to you that I . . . enjoy your company very, very much? That I would like to pursue our relationship beyond that of employer and employee?"

Belle gaped at him. "All right. I . . . . All right."

"Last night you were drunk when you kissed me." He looked deep into her eyes, "I think I want to see if you might kiss me when you aren't drunk."

Belle continued to gape at him. He had already turned and was continuing to walk down the street.

When she didn't follow him, he looked back at her, "Coming along?"

Belle shook herself. "Yes, absolutely." _He wanted her to kiss him!_

**Thanks so much to my inspirational reviewers (I keep getting ideas from you people that make my writing better): RoxyMoron, RaFire, celkin, OneMagician, Tinuviel Undomiel, Robin4, karolprado, orthankg1, emospritelet, cynicsquest, cheesyteal'c, Sage of Earth, Anne Andrews (Guest), juju0268, Chauchi, deweymay, Tee-Cup, thedoctorsgirl42, MyraValhallah, Erik'sTrueAngel, and SanSon23**

_Next: Gold ponders his relationship with Miss Belle_

_Mary Margaret introduces Belle to Iron Magic_

_Belle has a little fall_


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